finally, we reach the end of our arc, which started here.
many years pass, and with great pomp and celebration, exists the marriage between alphonse and fermastika. however, not all is perfect and there is trouble in paradise - not a day has passed from their consummation and already alphonse is wrought with boredom and complacency. so, like any respectable man, he keeps up a facaded, but behind closed eyes, his hearts is a coffin for souls and a sacrophagus of sins. sins of the flesh. and born from these travesties, borne of unwanting, are the progeny of despise, the children of hatred.
however, product of what should be right and what should be fair, is a single daughter, though cursed with the ailment of blood, and hexed with the luck of sinners. with the fate of the failing light and trust of all but none, an orchid amongst roses, a star of anise amongst fenugreek, is the princess disowned of throne and fallen from grace - mahsuri. banished to the islands of the north, her story diverges from ours and takes a course of its own, and of this, we warrant forfeit for now.
and though some things are cover to the eye, nothing is more overt to the minds of people than a blatant lie, especially one as blasphemous as that pertaining to love and its counterpart, lust. some say within days, some say after weeks, and yet others say after years of the desecration of fermastika, amaru approaches alphonse to gain freedom for his love, and hence for his heart. although alphonse is eager to part ways with what had become a burden, for things as simple as trinkets from lore and monetary exhumations of ethics; fermastika is not a trophy to be won. so, she fades into the ages and disappears into a moonlit, but cloudy night, never again to be seen or heard of. we believe that she is in a near-eternal slumber, waiting for the day a pure love awakens again, or for the first time. but we also believe that this is an euphemists play on words for a never-coming hope; hope for something so innocent, something so tempest, that it only exists in the hearts of angels, in the promises of demons and on the tongues of devils. but, who is to say what the new ages have brought us, and what this holds for fermastika and everything that surrounds her fate and our belief in it.
however, we do know what happened of amaru, and his story is as tragic as it is real - forsaken of heart and abandoned of words, amaru dwindles shortly around the peaks of gunung ledang. slowly and degeneratively losing his mind, it is said that amaru left behind a piece of his soul and a fragment of his love with every step he took, from which footsteps arose the tallest trees upon the peaks, which will live until fermastika finds reconcile and forgive - or in our belief, never.
as of what happened to alphonse, this is of no import, except for those historians interested in the development and eurocentric-making of colonial nations. and though this is academic and important, it is neither particularly romantic nor is it ambiguous, so we leave his story in the hands of curators, lawyers and antrhopologists.
though there are many (or no) morals to be begotten from this story, many retellings of the story concentrate on a single theme. but, my time has run astray and my tongue has lied and laughed. so with that, i leave you to regret, to relish, and maybe, to re-tell this story, with any given theme of your own.