Change is inevitable, but it isn’t always for the better.

It was never supposed to have happen like this. Not like this. I had her - in my arms, in my heart, and in my bed, but this wasn’t anywhere near how it was supposed to have gone, not how either of us had hoped it would be. Hope, such a lost concept to me now.

We had been so close to that which we had worked so hard for.

But I will not speak of this, just as one should not speak of the past when there is no way to change it. Five seconds ago is just that - five seconds ago. When time has gone, no matter what the urgency is, or what the level of regret amounts to, it is gone forever. It took me until now to really understand that.

Understand. One can understand, and yet, not accept.

Our world, our beautiful planet, is gone. Reduced to a paragraph that will come to reside in a child’s history textbook. Blown to fragments, along with the lives and dreams of those who loved her so much. Gone without so much as a scream…a shed tear. No warning. Nothing.

I long for the young man I was when we first came to set foot on her soil. More naive, yes, but with more optimism, a clearer picture of how things should be in the universe. And I had so convinced myself that my desire was enough to make things right. That somehow, if we worked and trained hard enough, if we cared enough for the cause and each other, good would win out in the end and peace would settle throughout, just as is should. But that boy with the idealistic dreams is dead; he perished alongside his teammates and his people.

And then there were two.

I thought I had seen it all. Death, sorrow, carnage - there was nothing I hadn’t known in my young life. But only now I do I know the truth, the sad reality that accompanies a destiny that was meant to suffer endlessly.

I cry for us both. She grieves as I do, but she laments as though her very soul had been raped. For that, I can not blame her, nor do I try to make it better. I don’t dare to think that she will ever be that young, carefree spirit again. If only she shed her tears for real, and I could dry them, for hers are tears of a silent, painful solitude, and this worries me more than I can say.

Oh, how we thought we knew what it was to suffer! We never could have known what was coming. I swear on everything that if she were not with me right now, I might scream to Heaven of the pain. But as she gazes at me with steady, warm eyes, I feel no need to scream. As long as she is with me, I know sanity, and for as long as she loves me, I have breath in my lungs. Never did I dream this was the way our fairytale would play out. I expected pomp, circumstance, and babies to dress up in pink and white dresses, ribbons adorning golden sunshine hair. Little princesses, just like my own, to love forever and ever.

Thank God that love survives beyond that which is ultimate despair. Or thank someone, for if there is a God, I don’t care to know anymore, for the God I was told of doesn’t have the wrath to bring this down upon us. Maybe they be devils who guide this fate.

Perhaps my ancestors did something of grievous offense…or maybe it is my soul which is to blame. When I was young, maybe ten years of age or so, my grandmother took me to a soothsayer for what she called a “reading.” But the soothsayer took one look at me and said, and I’ll never forget her exact words, “I don’t see the future of those who have the evil in their souls. Get him from my house and never come back!” Good Lord, that did a number on my head! But how can one be evil if one tries so hard not to be?

She stands at the helm of our vessel, that which we have been aboard for some eight nights now, steering on a direction-less course, for one knows no destination when one is running. But I have a strong suspicion that I am the only one who is running; she seems unconcerned.

Sometimes, I wonder if I make her uncomfortable, the way I always stare at her so openly. In days of long ago, it would only be out of the corner of my eye. Now, I take it all in with both eyes open. I think to ask her if she’s bothered by it, but the words die on my tongue, as they seem to do so easily these days. Neither of us have had much to do with conversation. Our communication is that of exchanged glances and knowing gestures. In fact, an entire weekend spent in New Orleans was mostly had in complete silence. We held hands, ran about here and there, and even laughed now and again, but there wasn’t much to do with idle chit chat.

Probably for the best, for if we started talking, really talking, we’d have to speak of Arus, and I know I’m not ready yet. And even as I harbor my own unbearable grief, I know she is even more burned by this reality that we both live with, this place in time that seems as unreal as Hell. Maybe as time moves forward, we shall learn to exchange pleasantries again, but for now, she, like myself, cares nothing for those sweeter, more superficial gestures; those were from a different time. Oh, how I yearn for those days again.

She fascinates me endlessly. The way she walks, how she breathes when she sleeps, even the way she glares bloody hatred at me when she’s angry. Completely, consuming, the lust I experience for one so small. But as I’ve told myself so many times before, it’s more than just the physicality that I crave, more than that silky exterior that everyone who sees her seems to admire so. It is so, so much more, beyond that which I will ever care to write down here. For as film makes a mockery of words, words insult that which whispers to the soul and burns its impressions into the heart.

There are some who believe that soul mates exist on the other side, watching us, guiding us, making sure that we make our journey to them unscathed. But I don’t believe that, not for myself anyway. My soul mate is flesh, and stands just feet from me now. God put us here to save each other. But no more mention of God for the time being. The topic saddens me.

My mother once told me that beauty is an illusion, the perception of those who seek to define a world with a misguided sense of standards. My grandmother told me that beautiful women were put here by Satan, come to poison and tempt good “menfolk.” Then again, my grandmother liked to put vinegar in her tea.

Perhaps it was mother who was right. Maybe beauty is a matter of perception. But flowers are beautiful, sunsets can beguile its onlookers, and Monet was more than exquisite in his vision. But this…this one thing is utterly foreign in how it holds me to it. I, the one who has always seen the universe as a miracle of science rather than spirit, have come to admit that there exists exceptions. Because as beauty may be illusionary in some circumstances and just as random in others, as I know now, it is as real and tangible as anything in nature. Even now, as a perpetual sadness clouds her every expression, I realize that I am in the presence of something lovelier than I will ever be able to comprehend. She is the light and the only reason I have for living. When she looks upon me, as she does now, I have only to reaffirm myself why we must keep running.

I used to think that running was for the coward. That is, until I was no longer just trying to save myself.

We married in a vineyard, in a small village just south of Rome. Allura had even arranged for the ceremony to be performed by a Cardinal, an old acquaintance of her father’s from before the war began.

There were just the two of us, the Cardinal, and the family who owned the vineyard (friends of the Cardinal, I’d guessed). But there were so many aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends, it felt more like a small town than a single family. They’d welcomed us with open arms and had given us a party we’d never forget. There was dancing, eating, and more drinking than I’d ever seen, but it was grand, and we both had a time worthy of the happiness we were feeling inside. It was the first time since we’d reached earth that I saw Allura smile for more than an instant. It didn’t quite radiate as it had in the past, but it was a start.

We stayed at the vineyard for about a week until the time came to move on. Even staying that long, we endangered our gracious hosts. But the moonlit walks through the groves, and the warm, friendly company had been hard to give up. They were sad to see “Mark” and “Jennifer” go, and they extended an invitation to have us back any time. We were now “part of the family.”

It was nice gesture, but one meant for “Mark and Jennifer.” Keith and Allura had a family, and they had been maliciously sought out and destroyed, one by one. I’m hoping that somehow, at least Sven and Romelle managed to escape Pollux. We’ve tried for weeks to find out Pollux’s state of affairs with no success. The television news speaks of celebrities and plane crashes, but not of an old, distant war and its casualties. I never realized how little Earth cares of the far galaxy’s affairs. And why should they? After all, Doom is too far away and too smart to try and conquer Earth. Arus and Voltron are a regrettable loss, but all’s fair in war, I suppose.

They’ve managed to track Allura and I here, and they’re looking for us.

Doom’s forces have set up a blockade around Earth’s atmosphere. No one comes in; no one leaves. And Earth won’t risk a war in their own air space by staging an aggressive military protest, especially since the Garrison silently knows what Doom has come for - us. My guess is that Earth is in no danger of being attacked as long as Doom is allowed to conduct their “search.” Knowing Lotor, he won’t give up until he finds what he came for, and I don’t doubt that the Garrison would hand us over if they knew our whereabouts, just to have business back to usual. After all, Arus is no longer a concern, and Voltron can no longer help them.

I don’t believe that Lotor had much to do with the final attack on Arus. For one, the attack was meant to take Allura along with her planet, and even if Lotor meant to spare her life, he must know that if he ever destroyed the one thing she held dear - her planet - she would never, for any reason, give in to him. Arus was the only leverage he had against her, and with it gone, he’ll seek to make her believe that he had nothing to do with it. He’ll promise his father’s head for what’s been done, if only she’ll love him. I know these things, just like I know Allura blames him for what happened, that he could have done something to stop it. But for all intensive purposes, he could be the reason she’s alive today. There was a warning, and I have great suspicion that it came from him. And for that, my hatred for him has not the intensity as it does for the real perpetrator of this horrible crime.

Two weeks after we’d been married, Allura told me something that made my heart drop to the floor. She’d sent a copy of our marriage license care of the Prince of Doom. She’d cut out all names and places, save for our own, and placed it in the mail. She told me that she had enclosed a short note as well, but for all I’ve done to get her to tell me its content, she won’t. She just smiles. I hope that it was worth it, this stab at him, because now, they know where we are with utmost certainty.

The first six weeks on earth were delightful. I mean delightful in a relative sense, of course, for what could be at such a time? Allura and I had abandoned our most recent memories to get by, as people tend to when more than what’s manageable comes their way, and to distract ourselves, we’d taken to absorbing in the superficial pleasantries of what Earth’s big cities had to offer.

They would be looking for a dark haired man, travelling with a woman with long, blond hair, so we’d taken to changing our appearance. In a strange sort of frenzy, she’d cut her own hair to just above her shoulders (which I later had to tidy up a bit), and she’s colored it an ash-brown, a pretty shade that seems to flatter her. To further enhance the chameleon effect, it is brushed straight or pulled back in a loose ponytail. And, one night as we walked the Santa Cruz boardwalk along the coast of California, she’d even had her ears pierced. For all her effort, she could pass for an entirely different person. Combined with the fact that she hasn’t been eating and presents a bit more gauntly than usual, even I have to do a double take now and again. Only when she smiles for me do I really see the Princess of Arus I knew so well.

As for me, I was a bit concerned that I might be recognized, as I do have a distinct look about me, so while in San Diego, Allura had taken to dying my hair and brows with a box of color from the drugstore up the street. It worked remarkably well, almost too well, for my hair now appears almost white. Probably all the better though. After reaching Earth, a huge strip of gray had sprung up suddenly one morning, and the dye seemed to have colored it out quite nicely. With that, and all the time we’ve spent outdoors acquiring golden hues to our skin, we were able to easily blend with the California natives, and now, with those who sail and inhabit these Virgin Islands.

I prefer our current surroundings, but I sense that Allura misses the city. Rome, Paris, London, Tokyo, Moscow, Los Angeles, New York…we’ve seen them all. We went sight seeing, took in concerts, indulged in the native cuisine, spoke the native tongue to those who we met along the way. Allura is a master at picking up languages, and she’s made easy friends wherever we’ve been. How I’d love for her to see my native Toronto, but for now, that is absolutely out of the question. That’s the first place they’ll look for us.

It was in New York City that we decided to head for a less populace local.

We’d been to see a show. Not a Broadway play, mind you, but one of those more worthwhile, off-Broadway productions. It was about a man who’d decided to enter the seminary, while just before having met a young nun who’d captured his attention. He’d obsessed about her until one fateful year, when he came to oversee the parish where she functioned as a school teacher.

I expected religious overtures and intense drama after reading the playbill, but I didn’t expect the exuberant amount of nudity. Being from Earth, I was used to such things, but I was concerned about how Allura would take it. After all, Arus had considerably more conservatives views on such things as sexuality and the display of it publicly.

But Allura didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, she raved about the play for a week’s time. I would’ve liked to have taken her to see it again, but that became our last night in New York City.

We’d taken a late Italian dinner at a small bistro just up the street from our hotel. We’d been talking enthusiastically about the play when suddenly, I heard something, rather, I “felt” something coming our way. I looked up just in time to see a Drule soldier enter the restaurant. I didn’t wait for him to see us. I grabbed Allura’s hand, and we escaped through the back door before being noticed. Not bothering to return to the hotel that night, we went south within the hour.

We have to carry all of our money with us, which is more difficult than one might think. Stacks of hundreds take up most of the room in our small bags. Spending money is kept in front pockets. Within the hour of reaching Earth, I had liquidated my accounts, any stocks and bonds I’d accumulated, and a property I’d been holding onto for when the war ended. It gave us more than enough to buy whatever we needed, wherever we went. And it suited our situation well. No electronic transactions to trace us by, just a pile of cash receipts with no names.

I’ve secretly enjoyed moving from place to place, dressing Allura up along the way in pretty clothes and expensive shoes. Not to mention, her insatiable appetite for earrings and all things that glitter. But I enjoy indulging even the smallest of her whims. To me, she’s like a pretty doll that I’m able to play with and make happy. It’s been all I’ve had to ease this pain.

She’s also becoming quite the driver, which I’m glad of, for we have only land and sea to travel by. Although we have sufficient fake ID’s, including passports to work with, we both agree that going by air would be most dangerous. And since the blockade, air travel has been greatly restricted, and we would risk being recognized, despite our clever makeovers. And so we’re left with car, boat, or train, and she loves them all equally.

On one of her more favorite trips, we’d decided to travel east from California via train, and so I’d secured a private luxury car, away from curious glances of others. For the event, she dressed herself in a smoky blue suit with a long skirt and large-rimmed hat that fell slightly down over her tanned forehead. To complete the effect, she’d chosen a pair of 5 karat diamond earrings I’d obtained for her in Los Angeles earlier that week and a bit of reddish lip color, a shade that was becoming a fast favorite of mine.

Despite our private car, she relished walking about the other passenger cars, reading in the lounge, taking tea in the dining car. The women, as well as the men, were all eager to sit with such a marvelous looking woman, and so we’d dine with young and old, spinning tales of our past, such as what we did for a living, who our families were – we made up everything from our names to how we’d met. (We still do this everywhere we go, and it supplies endless amusement for us both.)

On one such night, after having just arrived somewhere out east (Rhode Island, I think), she’d told a group of men and women at a quaint Bed and Breakfast that we were brother and sister, on our way to visit family on the coast. This amused me most, and I’d lavished her with caresses and kisses all night long, if just to see how our counterparts would react. To our surprise, we charmed everyone, particularly one couple. They had tried to get us drunk on wine and brandy before inviting us up to their room for the rest of the evening. Allura might have accepted the offer had I not “reminded” her of our early departure the following morning.

Later on, I told her of the true intent of their invitation, and to my surprise, she confessed to already knowing. Such a strange one, that wife of mine. I’m beginning to think I didn’t know her at all before coming here. The whole event made me to wonder if she’s perhaps too lovely. Attracts too much attention. But there’s not much to be done about that, nor would I want to if given the choice.

The whole idea behind submerging us into city life was to camouflage ourselves. The needle-in-the-haystack theory, if you will. But that night in New York changed everything. Now, I have a strong suspicion that they’re getting closer to finding us than we think. And so we’ve taken to the lesser populated areas, and a less-obvious method of travel.

The boat is just large enough to handle on our own, and with a powerful enough motor to run a good chase. There are sleeping and showering quarters below, and a sitting area just next to it where I keep a weather radio on constantly. Although this is the dry season, it still rains, and we must be cautious, for storms are known to come up unexpectedly at all times of the year and swallow up whole, boats like this one.

Allura corrects me when I call it a “boat.” She says it’s a “ship.” Well, we’ll be trading in the ship soon enough. For some reason, I don’t feel that we’re safe here. Not from the weather, for I stick close enough to shore, but from that which seeks us out.

We have a destination, but I dare not write it down here. We would not run without purpose, for that is not my way. Currently, we wait for a specific window of escape. It comes soon, and with luck, we’ll be leaving this planet within the month. Blockade or not, we’ll make the attempt. It is a risk, but staying here is a bigger one.

But if it is our fate that we should be caught, I have the peace of knowing that we carry with us a laser blaster with just enough charge for two shots. I would not allow myself to suffer at the hands of the enemy, and she would rather die than be forced into the arms of that madman. And with all my heart and soul, I would not hesitate to pull the trigger, even to extinguish that life which means most to me.

She looks at me with sad blue eyes. It is late, and she is waiting for me to finish. We haven’t slept for two days, and both of us need the rest. But I don’t think that she means for us to sleep just yet. We will do as we always do when in such peaceful surroundings - hold each other in silence and marvel at the spectacle of stars that twinkle around us in every direction. She will point to that faint sparkle in the northeast sky, that which was our sun, that star which burns no more. She will shed her silent tears and hold me to her, and then we will be off to sleep the troubled rest of those hearts who suffer.