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They danced.
And then he was alone.
Over the time, V got accustomed to her presence around him. It was something like a routine, already. One of the first things in the morning - prepare the food, shove it down the hole in the cell. Then torture her or simply stare at her if he felt especially merciful that day. At times, he almost wished that she would give in, that she would say something - anything, really, so that he would be able to put an end to the entire process. But to do what with her, then? He wasn't quite sure. He never got around thinking that part completely through. Either way, there was never a need to do anything drastic since she stoically tolerated everything that he did to her. All the pain, all the suffering, all the bitter tears shed in the night, all the hopes lost one by one... she took everything in, even though she had no more strength left. She was like an aspen, bending before the wind but never breaking.
Oh, how much he admired that quality of hers. And then he gave her the reason to continue to fight him. He gave her something that replaced the emptiness in her heart with courage; despair with determination; fear of future into the meaning of the existence. He gave her the letter that he had kept with him for all this time; something that long, long time ago transformed him as well from a trembling animal into the embodiment of the revolution. And how beautifully did Evey blossom after reading that letter. In mere days he was assured that no matter what he would do to her from now on, she would not give in; she would not give up. She would not move even an inch even if it had meant her death. And at that point in time it was meaningless to continue any more of this torture, so he allowed her to find out the truth.
Of course, it would be silly to expect her to stay with him, after all that he has done to her. Even when she understood his reasoning and thus forgave him just a bit, this alone would not make her forget everything that has happened.
Still. He would miss her.
Bah, enough of this! He had better things to do than to reminiscent about the past and everything that could have happened but never did. He has his Revolution, something that needs most careful final planning. He could not allow himself to be sloppy; to ignore any minute detail, or the entire thing could fail. Surely he could not allow that to happen. He could see the fireworks that would light the Parliament on fifth of November before his eyes as if it were now; he could smell the gunpowder… No, it was too late for him to fail. Even if he were to die before that faithful night, he must make sure that someone will step up to bring his glorious dreams to their inevitable conclusion.
What would happen after the fifth, though? That he could not see. He could not imagine that future that he is about to create. Without proper guidance his Child could turn into a monster. As history has shown time and again, even when revolutions succeed, their result is usually just another form of government; another pyramid simply flipped on its side. New “great rulers” usually appear from those who suffered at the hand of the previous empire, and they believe that the Fate has given them the right to make everyone else suffer for what they went through. Because they have the power now, power to control lives. Power, which must be secured at all costs. To hell with those who dare to oppose them. Hate and suffering leads to more hate and suffering, repeating this vicious cycle over and over and over again…
This is why the anarchy is the ideal form of government. It must be. If one has no one to answer other than to themselves, if one lives by the divine principle - to be at peace with those who surround them, it would be an ideal society. Societies, though, don't work like that. There can never be a true anarchy. Someone – something – will take charge, even though they would probably hide their symptoms of power as the “greater good”.
Revolutions are carried through by idealists and end up in hands of the realists…
No. No, this train of thoughts will not do, either. He has the duty before this country, before this land… or, to be more precise, before a single woman who used to live in a cell next to his. He will avenge her and bring the smell of roses back. And whatever is to happen in future would be their doing, not his. It is up to them what kind of society they will want to build on the ruins that he would help to create. And if the things would take the turn for the worst, there will always be another man in a mask, another symbol, another reason for people to take arms and revolt against those who control them.
He, probably, would not live to see it happen, though. This new society of theirs.
Back to work, now, back to work. The packing of the masks in the boxes is almost done. Pity, though. Those men who helped him to craft them would probably die to. Much sooner than he would. The factory where they worked would probably have some sort of an accident and it would be closed down. Or maybe not. Depending on how deep chancellor Sutler’s men would be willing to search. They most certainly have not proved themselves to be much of an adversary so far.
Massacres would begin. The current government is too clingy to their ways to give up without a fight. But compared to what they could do otherwise (and have done repeatedly in the past), this would be a lesser evil.
The fifth is near. The day for which he waited for so many years. The day when the purpose of his existence would be fulfilled.
And, she will be back, too. She promised, after all.