Her scream didn't just tear through the air, it scratched the walls, trembled in the glass, and pulsed in the blood of everyone present in the hall. She crawled across the floor, clutching at the marble as if it were the last anchor keeping her from drowning, though it was nothing more than palace tile. Her dress slipped from her shoulders. Hair stuck to her face. She didn't look like a Queen, she looked like a dog writhing in agony.
- ʋøζʋɖɛ ιʌ… (Take her away…)- someone whispered, unable to even say it aloud.
- ϯø ʂ ηɛʌ? (What's wrong with her?) - a guard gripped the hilt of his sword.
- ʋøηα øɖɛʀʐʋʌ? (Is she possessed?)
-ʙʋʟʌ ʟι ʋøηα кøϯα-ηιϚʌ ʍʋηɛʌʍøι? (Was she ever in her right mind to begin with?)
-ʙʋʟʌ ʟι ʋøηα кøϯα-ηιϚʌ ʍʋηɛʌʍøι? (Was she ever truly sane?)
Servants retreated. The ladies-in-waiting pressed trembling hands to their lips. One fainted outright.
And she rasped, groaned, whispered something incomprehensible, in a tongue that did not belong to the court. None of the priests recognized the words.
The King stood frozen. He didn't know what to do. And then a voice rang out. Calm. Confident. A voice that took control of the hall.
- ʜʋʌͲιͲ. (Enough.)
A woman in crimson stepped forward. Her face - a mask. Wrinkles - sculpted. Her gaze - cold. She moved closer. Slowly. Her heels barely rang on the marble, and yet each step echoed like a death toll.
She didn't tremble. She didn't gasp like the others. She was enjoying the scene.
- Ͳɛøᛞøʀ. Ͳʋ ʋιɖιʂ ʂʌʍ. ʋøηα ηɛ ʙ ʂɛʙɛ. (Theodor. You see it yourself. She is not in her right mind.)
Everyone turned to look.
She hadn't raised her voice - but each word fell like a sentence. And the Queen, what was left of her, as crawling, clutching the base of a column as if trying to escape her own memory. Her lips moved, whispering words no one could understand. But there was enough pain in them to wish you hadn't heard at all. The woman exhaled. Gracefully. Deliberately.
As if she were a weary, compassionate mother and not the predatory Dowager Queen. She spoke as though reading a sentence from an old chronicle. As though it had all happened before. As though she had once rid herself of someone just like this.
- αн,… ʙɛɖηʌжκʌ, (Ah,… poor thing, ) - she murmured almost affectionately, as one might about a broken doll.
-κͷø ʐɛ ʐηʌʟ, ͷͷø ιʌø Ϸʀøʙʋʐɖɛηιɛ ʌʙɛʀηʋͲͷʌͲͷͷ ͷʌкʌʍ... Ϸͷɛκͷͷʈʌʟɛʍ. ʙɛͷηʋιͷ Ͳɛøᛞøʀ. Ͳʋ ʋɛɖͷͷͷʌ ͷʌк ηʌɖɛͷʌʟͷʂͷ, ͷͷø ιʌø... ʀɛʌʐʌʟͷͷʌ. ιʌø Ϸʋϓʌɛͷ Ϸʋʛ. κʌʟɛͷͷͷ Ϸøʂͷʋηøɛ ɖøͲøιηͷͷ. ͷʋʍͷʌɛͷ Ϸøϲɛͷ. ηɛʚʋͷɛʌι Ͳʋ ι ʂͷͷø ʋɖɴʌͲʋ ʂʋøʋʋ ʐɛηʋ?
(Who could've known her awakening would turn into such... theater. Poor Theodor. You had such hopes, didn't you? That she would... come back. And instead, she fell apart. She frightens the servants. Shatters her own dignity. Shames the Council. Do you truly still see your wife in that wreck?)
And then came the venom:
- ʍøʐɛͲ,… ʂͷøιͲ ʌʂʋøʙøɖιͲʌ ιʌø? øͲ ʂͷͷʌχʌ. øͲ ʂͷʙʌ. øͲ ηʌʂ. Ͳøкʌ ιʌø ηɛ ʐɖɛʌʌʌ ϲʋʂɛ.
(Perhaps… we should free her? From fear. From herself. From us.
Before she does something worse.) And in her eyes not a flicker of fear. Only a rapture for the moment she had waited for far too long.
She did not understand where the pain began and where she herself ended. Her whole body was on fire, the flames as if seeping through her skin, pulsing in her lungs, burning her from within, tearing her consciousness to shreds. In her mind flickered images of blinding light, a child's scream, flame. Faces. Fear.
Her lips silently exhaled the word: Help…
But no one moved. Everyone just watched. Faces surrounded her, yet not one came closer. They stood frozen, detached, as though this were happening not to her, but on a stage before them.
Why do they do nothing?
Why do they simply… observe?
She barely lifted her eyes. And saw him. The very man whose voice had echoed in her memory, warm and strong. He walked toward her with confidence, step by step, cutting through the bystanders' indifference with his presence. Her heart trembled. He was here. He would save her. He had come for her.
He drew close. And slowly, with the creak of metal, he drew the sword from its scabbard.
For a moment she understood nothing. She only watched each of his movements, as if everything had slowed down. How beautifully the blade gleamed in the rays of the morning light. He lifted it above himself with ease. Without words he looked into her eyes. The fear she had not felt in the fire nor in death washed over her like cold water. He was here. He was watching. He had come, but not for that.
He had come to finish it.
Her gaze snapped to the sword held at its zenith. The air in her chest froze. She wanted to scream, but her voice failed her. Only one thought flickered: Why?
And then everything stopped.
The blade passed through flesh as if through fabric. No pain. No sound. Only a sharp, terrifying silence inside. Her head fell back. The world blurred. Her eyes were still open. She still saw everything. The same faces, but now they no longer looked.
They turned away.
Darkness wrapped around her again, viscous as tar. There was no pain, no breath, no thoughts, only the sensation of a gentle rocking. Endless. Soundless. Here she did not sense time. How much had passed? A moment… or eternity?
And then the pain returned. In her throat. Sharp, pulling. As if a scar were pulsing with fire. Not a wound, but a memory.
A sudden gasp. Again a bright beam struck her eyes. Her eyes flew open, the light crashing down like a blow.
Above her hung the canopy's fabric. Around her, gilded walls, silence, and somewhere in the distance the neighing of horses, the clatter of hooves, the murmur of voices. The scent of incense lingered in the room. She lay… on the featherbed. Again.
Her body trembled. Fingers dug into the sheets as if they could help her break free when squeezed hard enough. And again her throat throbbed, her skin burning with ache. She touched her neck, where the blade had passed. No wound and no blood. Only pain. As though her flesh itself remembered being cut.
Footsteps. The door creaked. The same hem of a dress, a copper basin and jug in hand. The same fragile, frightened girl. A voice.
-ɛяøʟɛʋа, you ϙϲнυʟιϞ! (Queen, you have awakened!) - The maid nearly dropped the basin, hastily setting it down. She was happy again. She curtsied again. She shone with naive devotion again.
As if nothing had happened.
She was silent. She stared straight at the girl. For a long time. In silence. The girl froze. Doubt flickered in her eyes. Her fingers still trembled. The pain in her throat subsided but did not leave, like a phantom wound. In her ears rang the clink of her executioner's sword. She sat up more abruptly than she intended. Her eyes were wide open. The maid stepped back a pace.
-Where am I? - her voice hoarse. - Where is my child?... Do you understand me?The maid froze. That same panic appeared in her eyes again.
-I Пяøʂυ Ϸяøʂɛнon… (I beg your pardon…) - the girl mumbled, backing away, clenching the hem of her dress in her fists.
-Don't… - she tried to stand, reaching out a hand. - Don't run away. I understand everything. Please. If you leave now…But the maid was already at the door.
-I ʂøøʍцю His ѴɛʟιͲнɛϞͲʋу! (I will inform His Majesty!)And the door slammed shut again. She was left alone. She clutched her head in her hands. Her heart pounded. I don't want to die. I don't want to die. I don't want to. And she knew: if nothing changed, they would kill her again. Without mercy. Without understanding.As if the script were already written. She needed to get out of here, find her son… And then. She didn't know. The most important thing was to find her son. Throwing on the robe, that lay at the edge of the bed and, barefoot, stepped onto the cold stone floor. Her body trembled, whether from the chill or from fear. She approached the heavy door, listening. Outside, there was only silence. No one guarded the Queen's chambers, no one expected her to leave of her own accord. Carefully pushing the door open, she peered into the corridor. Yes, there was no one to be seen. Steeling herself, she stepped out. Her heart pounded so loudly it echoed through the castle walls. She didn't know where to go, only that she must put as much distance as possible between herself and the bedroom. She wasn't sure which way to turn, but she knew she could not encounter those people again, the ones who would kill her without question. Her pace quickened of its own accord. She was almost running now, hugging the shadows and avoiding any stray glance. The corridors stretched on endlessly, all alike, as if designed to keep her trapped within.
But then a familiar voice cut through the silence, stopping her in her tracks. It was the same woman. Her fan was open, hiding half her face, but her eyes studied intently. There was no surprise in them,only a barely concealed mockery. The woman tilted her head slightly and whispered, a venomous smile playing on her lips:
-Ѵøϯ ɛͲø яαʞость! Ϸøʀøʟɛʋα Ϸʀиʂʟα ʌ ʂɛбя! ηʋ... или Ϸø ϯακøʍʏ, Ϸøϲϯι...(What a joy! The Queen has come to her senses! Or… well, almost….)
Those words rang in her mind like a distant echo, stirring fresh terror. She took a step back, the world blurring at the edges. The air quivered, the walls seemed to ripple before her eyes.
-No… - she whispered, reaching for the wall but unable to steady herself. It felt as if time itself were being squeezed into a suffocating knot, propelling her forward beyond her will. In an instant she found herself once more surrounded by the crowd. The same faces, the same misunderstanding and contempt. Again the man, his face twisted in that strange blend of pain and resolve. He stepped forward, slowly drawing the blade from its scabbard.
-No, stop! Please… - she cried, stretching out her hands as if she could ward off what was already fated. But he did not stop.
The blade rose above her again, frozen at its zenith. Time slowed only so she could see once more every detail in the smallest nuance: the gleam of the steel, the shadow on Theodor's face, people turning away. One single thought pierced her mind again: Why again?
But no one answered. No one saved her.
The sword fell on her again. A short, soundless strike. Again there was no pain, only a ringing void, silence, and darkness. Into which she fell, not for the first time.