The Midnight Summons
The night was thick with silence.
It stretched through the halls of house Faxons grand estate, curling like an unseen specter against the walls. The fire in Lady Moriah Faxons bedchamber had burned to embers, leaving behind nothing but the scent of smoldering wood and a lingering sense of unease.
Moriah stirred in her sleep, a whisper of silk against the sheets.
Something was wrong…
A shadow in her dreams linkered telling her something was wrong…
A hand reaching -
Rap. Rap. Rap.
She jolted awake of her dreams.
The knock was sharp, precise and strong like in a hurry. Not like the hesitant tap of a server she normally gets and is used to no…
Nor it was a casual summons of her beloved husband..
It was the kind of a knock that demanded something of her, and because of that Lady Moriah felt more uneasy of what kind of situation it is outside of her chambers.
Her heart hammered against her ribs, her whole body.
Before she could call out, the doors burst open.
A flood of armored guards poured in, before she could even say anything like im naked…
That was more like a joke she wanted to scream out but she didn't get the chance to say that, looking at the guards armored and ready to take her..
They were holding torches in hand, their polished steel like drawn blades ready to slice anybody..
At their head stood a man draped in crimson robes, his face carved with grim finality. A high Inquisitor..
Moriah's cold fear slid down her spine.
"In the name of the Crown" he declared, his voice void of emotion, "Lady Moriah Faxon, you are under arrest for the murder of your beloved husband, Lord Marcel Faxon."
The words did not make any sense at all..
Marcel — dead?....
No. No, that was impossible…
He was alive just hours ago..
She could still hear his sweet laughter, low and teasing as he poured his favorite wine for the evening..
Could still see the warmth in his sharp hazel eyes..
The way his lips had curled into a smirk before whispering some stupid joke at dinner..
He had kissed her finally today for the first time…
He had held her tight in his arms like a loving husband today…
Marcel was not dead….
There is no way right?...
"This is a mistake," she whispered softly, barely able to breathe.
"Marcel isn't—he cant be—"
The Inquisitor stepped forward, cautious of her..
Of what she could do…
His gaze like iron looking at her red eyes that sparkled with confusion and stress.
"His body was found in his study," he said looking at her, at her reaction.
"His gobbled laced with Nightshades Kiss."
Moriah's stomach twisted..
No, No it couldn't be…
She knew the poison well—a silent killer, dissolving into the the bloodstream without a trace. A nobles assassin.
That's what she thought…
A murder with no room for innocence.
Her hands shook from stress.
"We found traces of it in your apothecary," the Inquisitor continued.
"And you, His Wife, had access to his food and drink."
A perfect crime.. A perfect suspect.. Me the wife of a known writer in this generation.
A perfect lie for someone..
"No." Moriahs voice cracked. "No, this isnt–I would never–Marcel was my husband!"
The Inquisitor's lips barely curled in response. Not a smile. Not a sneer. Just a quiet, unreadable judgment that's all he gave her.
"So you claim."
The guards stepped forward.
Cold iron shackles around her wrists.
The Trial of Shadows
The Grand Court of the Capital was a cage of gold and lies.
Stone pillars rose to the center of the chamber, bound in chains, her silk gown dirtied from the cold dungeon floor. The scent of damp stone and incense clung to her skin, her body and sole.
Above her, seated in the high judges chair, was Duke Remiel Faxon.
Her husband's uncle..
A powerful noble. A man who had never hidden his distaste for her marriage to Marcel.
He gazed down at her with something unreadable in his cold, gray eyes, shimmered disgust, revenge..
"Lady Moriah Faxon, you stand accused of the murder of your husband.""
The words were a sentence before the trial had even begun.
Moriah clenched her fists. "This is madness," she said, her voice trembling but firm. "Someone framed me. I loved Marcel–why would I ever harm him?" she pleaded to her husband's uncle, trying to get him to understand and get it in his head…
A noblewoman in the crowd scoffed behind her fan.
"She's desperate," another murmured. "Pathetic."
Another one said behind her.
Moriah turned, searching the sea of faces for someone–anyone–who might defend her.
Then she saw him..
A man in black, standing at the far end of the chamber.
He was unlike the others–not whispering, not sneering.
Just watching…
His posture was unnervingly still, his face a cast in the shadows, his presence heavy with something she could not name…
A chill ran through her whole body, her bones..
The judges hammer slammed against the podium.
"By the authority of the Crown," Remiel declared, "Lady Moriah faxon, you are sentenced to death.''
Her vision blurred after hearing his words.
And at that moment she knew it was over…
The Execution
The gallows stood tall in the city square, a dark silhouette against the morning sky.
Moriah was barely standing as they dragged her onto the wooden platform.
She felt the noose tighten around her neck. Felt the rough fibers bite into her skin, felt everything cracking in her body.
The executioner stood beside her, faceless beneath his hood of shadows.
The crowd was hungry.
She heard their murmurs, their cruel amusement of killing of an innocent wife.
"She deserves it."
"A woman with ambition is dangerous.''
"I heard she never shed a single tear for him.''
Moriah's breaths came in sharp, ragged gasps.
How could they assume of her so bad…
How could all of these people just watch her…
A wife who was accused..
She searched the crowd one last time.
Seeing everyone laughing and smirking at her.
Naming her in bad words.
When she looked at the back crowd she saw him..
He was still there.
The man in black.
Unmoving. Unblinking.
Just waiting for me to die…
But as soon as the lever was pulled she saw a smirk from him and he mouthed something.
"The villain will be reborn.''
That's what he said…
As soon as the lever was pulled.
She fell.
A sharp snap—
Darkness.
Cold.
Nothing.
Rebirth
She gasped.
Her eyes flew open.
She was not at the gallows.
She was standing in the courtroom, at the same fucking courtroom, the same judge…
The same torches flickered against the stone.
The same fucking judge sat upon his throne.
The same words echoed through the air—
"Lady Moriah Faxon, you are found guilty of murder.''
Her knees nearly bucked.
She had died..
She had felt the noose tighten, the snap of her neck, the world vanishing into cold darkness—
And yet, she was here.
The same moment. The same trial.
She turned toward the shadows.
Looking for one and only man.
The man in black…
And there he was standing at the back.
Watching.
But this time—
He was smiling at her…
A slow, knowing curve of his lips.
The world shuddered.
The torches flickered…
And Moriah knew—
She had died before.
And she would die again…
Unless she does something…