Okay, so Ezekiel isn't technically the Paris in this equation, but it fits in my brain. Mel tells me it's Tybalt! Thank you, Mel! >.> They're the most incestuous non-incestuous sibling relationship I've seen so far as far as their weird attachment to each other go. Also, this is most likely the end. Bye, bye Caillen! <3
The touch of his hand helped to heal a small part of his sister's worries, though it all remained plastered to the face she had so long tried to make passive. She knew her weakness in the emotions that easily took over her ice-queen heart. Others couldn't see her own ignorance to the masks she presented, and that had now affected not only what miniscule relationship she might have had with her hateful uncle, but now it had helped to bring ruin to the ties she kept with her brother. But it was the touch of his hand that righted some of that wrong. She clung to it in desperation, until it was once again pulled from her tremor-filled fingers. Again, she waited. She waited for the harsh words that didn't come, replaced instead with the vaguely malicious claim that she wouldn't listen to him, that he gave her his permission to do as she pleased. Perhaps it wasn't true permission, for she could hear the anger in him, but it was permission. Black-rimmed ears lowered to hide amongst the auburn curls that fell upon her shoulders. He left her, the lost princess with the open-book eyes who so desperately needed him there in that moment; though she wanted to, she didn't follow.
Her attention was returned to the corpse of what had once been her handsome lover, turned to nothing by the strong fury of her King. He wanted the corpse taken away, and she didn't want to disappoint him again. Gathering the cast away pendant, she fastened the silver strings about her neck and leaned forward to grasp the shoulders of the behemoth in her fairy hands. It was a funny sight, to see the nocturnal Goddess try and move the hulking mass. No matter how hard she pulled and dragged and pushed, he didn't move; she simply wasn't strong enough for the task, and Ezekiel had not stayed to help her. The stress overcame the woman's petite form and she fell to the dirtied grass again — her face found its place in the plush fur of the dead man. She couldn't do it, once again she had failed in a task given to her, and it overcame the Optio with the worst feeling of disgust in herself.
Tearless sobs escaped the princess, fingers clutching the chest of her once-love as all her pent up pain flooded out into the air. She was left with no one. Again, her mind twisted to faith; why would God have allowed yet more horror to befall the woman who had suffered already? What had she done now to deserve such divine punishment? Of course, there came no answer as the shadows descended on the lost Juliet who tried to reason the loss of both her Romeo and her ever watchful Tybalt.
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