The stars are so bright as dozens of weary electors watch sequestration breaking. Brambles receding, slumping bloodlessly into the dirt. Nothing survives for long with a broken heart.
Upon the faces of the electors, there is relief, grief, exhaustion.
They walk, many hand-in hand, through the maze. They watch that none are left behind. They watch that none grow too directionless, too afraid. They walk together.
They walk into a new sunrise.
Sunbeams gild the horizon, in the lazy foothills near Zeivahr where the Palace last ground to a halt. All here glows green, not scarlet or stone. It is a safe lull, where breath is caught.
It is where hugs are exchanged, promises sworn; bonds forged by blood or fate sealed now in letters and embraces. Plans made, farewells said with sorrow, jubilance and love. Pages turning, stories finding their next chapters, together or apart.
And so the electors set forth, into ever after.
Fated may have finished, and the Palace may have fallen, but the characters will continue on in the world beyond its walls. Below are pieces of those stories: the new pages, the tragic epilogues, the happily ever afters.