Beside her, Franz looks composed. Even stiff. And yet, Sisi detects the weariness that lurks behind his calm mask. The human frailty that persists, even after all of his years of training and emotional mastery.
For a brief flash, she yearns to remove those coverings from him; to free him of his trappings so that he might once again resemble the man she knew, the man whose hopes were once so interwoven with her own that she had not distinguished between the two distinct threads.
But it is too late for that now. He has made his decisions, she has made hers. She cannot undo the past any more than she can retrace the course she has set for the future. She admits that to herself one final time, sadly, as if wishing him farewell. Wishing a version of herself farewell.
All around them now, the crowd packed into the cathedral jostles and applauds, a frenzied horde vying for a spot close enough to touch them.
“My Queen!”
“My Empress!”
“Long live Sisi!”
“Long live Franz Joseph!”
They love her, she sees, but will they forgive her for what she must do next?