It hurts seeing him like this - the man, the man of many titles and names, beloved by all but beloved by none more than you.
Many wept and cursed at his predicament, many went to insane denial and bleeding cope, to see the Master of Mankind in such an unthinkable state. The Imperium was in fractures and here now, in this chair barely keeping him now alive was the clear representation, the figurehead, of that. But that was the grief of Humanity, to you he was so much more than that. Much more. He was much more than what the average folk saw. Much more.
It did not feel real, it still does not. Your mind can reel and absorb as much of the information as it can but it shatters to pieces once it comes into contact with the hardening walls of your heart.
For a small amount of time Malcador was there to support you, truly understand what you were going through, he after all knew Neoth on the same level as you did; he knew the man, not the idol. But it's not long after he is gone too.
You are alone, even if there is countless of guards and servants around you to serve, years upon years pass and the list of more and more people around you that could possibly understand grow less and less each passing day.
You were gifted a long inhuman life, blessed so that you may walk at your husband's side into the rest of eternity only to now be cursed by it. Now, for thousands of years you have to stare back at a motionless figure strapped down to a screaming dull chair. It's sick in a way, ten thousand years have you be the companion to a corpse, much longer than the 500 you spent with the actual man.
He's still in there, somewhere, you try and tell yourself, you don't get that much time alone with him as you would like to - always some sort of watchful eye prying about and studying your every interaction. But in the rare moments... you try and speak to him, try the best you can in your trembling cadence to speak to him as you once have millennia ago. It becomes to much. Over time you begin to loose the hope you had. He can't hear you. But that doesn't stop you from talking; sharing how your days have been, what's been on your mind, what's been troubling you, and on worse days... sometimes you just cry, stumbling on the ground before his feet, remembering what was once was.
Little are you aware of the stare that is locked onto you from the corner of his eye.
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