a costly mistake

[WP] You did awful, horrible things and served the tyrannical government with the promise of resurrecting your long-dead spouse. You finally capture the legendary rebel against this government. Who upon closer inspection, was your spouse.

*****

A single, well-placed shot in the back of the man's neck. Was it cowardly? Perhaps. But I'd stoop to levels you can't even imagine if I thought it might alleviate the burden in my heart.

Clarissa was a chain-smoking poet. A neurotic schoolteacher. A daughter. A wife. A mother. She remained in the souls of many, a candle that refused getting snuffed out, and my memories of her I count as my greatest treasures.

The Marsoigne demanded obedience and respect of its authority. They employed the fiercest warriors as well as the finest magicians in the realm. Their monopoly on violence allowed them to impose order on the chaos of nature, though some felt their influence to be suffocating. That included the man before me--the Baron of Madness--who had brought the Marsoigne to its knees.

"Capture the Baron, and we will grant you free access to our magicians. That includes, of course, our necromancer."

The promise of the councilor reverberated in my mind. Even as a vague reanimation, I'd cherish her. She lived on in my dreams. To have her by my side in waking as well; I'd do anything for such a chance. Which was why I agreed to hunt down the Baron of Madness.

"In the children's eyes, I see hope," Clarissa had once told me. "I want to protect that hope."

A butcher's apprentice told me he had been spotted walking down a certain alleyway, and I wasted no time on stalking the anarchist down. Radical factions bred violence and strife. How many others would lose their loved ones were the Baron allowed to carry out his sinister operations? I couldn't bear the thought.

Now he was splayed before me, having become himself the chaotic mess he sought for our realm. I spat at his back. "You made a mistake, going against the Marsoigne," I said. The corpse had no reply. I imagined the Marsoigne necromancers would bring the wretched soul back to life, only to torture him anew. That was the cost of his madness. There would be no rest. Only suffering.

"Let's see then," I said, before I turned the man over. I had some guesses as to his secret identity. Rumors had spread throughout the realm like the plague. Some assured me it was the police inspector Francois Ribbner. Others guessed it would have to be some wicked criminal, or an operative from a hostile nation. Personally, I believed the Baron of Madness to be the belligerent son of a low-ranking politician. The rot of idealism could very well grow from such a fine source of dung.

Just as I imagined the return of my dear Clarissa, I saw her. With a hole in her neck.

"C-Clare?" I said.

Months prior I had buried her. We lowered her coffin into the ground and covered it with soil. I held a eulogy. Our families came together in mourning. So why did the Baron of Madness have her face?

Still believing it to be some sort of ruse, I searched her clothes. There was a piece of bread and a note. Several names were crossed out. The Baron was delivering food to starving families?

There were no weapons or explosive devices of any kind. No traces of destruction or anarchy. No radical pamphlets or conspiratorial letters.

All the Baron carried was hope.

I sank to my knees, and I held Clarissa in my arms. For a moment I thought the best course of action would be to join her. Then I remembered the necromancers of the Marsoigne. I could clearly recognize Clarissa as the loving woman I married. They would only see the Baron of Madness. If they were to reanimate her ...

The councilor went pale when he saw me return dressed in the garb of the Baron. "I have deceived you," I told him. "I will turn myself in, if you will promise to honor our agreement. My wife had nothing to do with my scheming. She was a mere schoolteacher. You might expect an increase in rank if it becomes known that you captured the Baron of Madness. Otherwise, you might expect a bullet."

"Are you threatening me?" the councilor said.

"Quite so," I assured him. "So what do you say? I take it you are amenable to threats?"

I knew the man well enough to know that he took the matter of honor seriously.

The councilor let out a brief sigh, then said, "Very well. I don't fully understand your intentions, but our agreement still stands." After a silence, he added, "Tell me, were you thinking of delivering to me some patsy? Was your plan to hand the Marsoigne a fake Baron and have the poor soul tortured?"

"Absolutely," I said. "That was my original plan."

"In that case," said the councilor, "what made you change your mind?"

"I suppose I'd rather be a martyr," I told him, and I could spot a wry smile on his lips.

"Even a fake martyr would inspire hope in the peasants, wouldn't he?"

"Perhaps you are right," I said. And for the sake of Clarissa's schoolchildren, I hoped that he truly was. I also hoped I would live on in her heart, as she had in mine.

*****

THE END.

I don't know why I've been having the feels these past few weeks but I think it's starting to show in my writing... A lot.

How are you guys doing btw?