On a night forlorn like a widow’s soul burdened by silent grief and haunted by bone-crushing anguish, a dream laid wasted, crumpled in a burgundy velvet blanket on ground inhospitable as concrete. Retribution, redemption, and reconciliation, desires raging away like wildfire, uncontained and unstoppable, usurped the throne in her spirit where pride and peace once held power.  Was it only just a few nights ago when all that was known had faded like a dream? Somehow the memories escaped, leaving a hole that grew with confusion. Shut it away. Shut it out. Shut it down.

              Close your eyes.

              In the darkness of closed eyes was a closed mind that never ceased to contemplate the secrets concealed in life’s circumstances. Surely, there must lie some meaning, some higher purpose in the tragedies that befell the pitiful souls damned in this world, on this plane of existence. It was easier to believe that every factor in life narrowed in together to become one. One, one. One was the goal. Everything came together to become one. It was comforting to hear and comforting to believe, because if everything became one then everyone would be together and no one would be alone, even though the very definition of one is singular, alone in its very existence.

              Your Majesty.

              A queen alone has power. A queen alone is powerless.

              Your Majesty.

              Death was a luxury afforded only by the poor.

              Your Majesty.

              “Yes!”

              Vocal sharpness sliced through the velvet into silent space but the voice that responded was measured and mellow.

              “You have guests whom you must see.” A dignified man stood at the door. He watched with unwavering stillness as the crumpled velvet shifted and stretched away from the floor. Disheveled and unsightly, a woman emerged beside the pristine bed, which was only missing a matching velvet blanket. The man averted his gaze and a short huff escaped from his nostrils before he could recompose his patience. The woman made no effort to look for her garments and no effort to hide the fact that she did not care where they had gone. Shoulders back and head cocked to one side, she fluttered her eyes open, yawned, and headed towards the door. The man quickly pulled the doors toward him, shutting them with a soft thud against their iron frame.

              “Your guests would like to see your Majesty, dressed.”

              “Fetch me something, then. I have little time for such ordinary matters.” The woman met his gaze. Soft and unassuming, she thought, how nice it must be to be born with such a disposition. His eyes not once strayed from her gaze.

              “Your handmaiden will come shortly,” he answered, pleased with the woman’s easy compliance. She turned on her heel and took a few long strides away. Her silhouette contrasted against the diffuse light of the east window. The occasional breeze broke through the open window and the sheer curtains permitted the glimmer of the morning sun to sprinkle across her skin. She wrapped her arms around herself. It was much warmer under the blanket. I shouldn’t have answered. But she knew there was little hope for peace had she not.

              Two knocks.

              Low groan. The heavy doors ever so slightly crept open and a petite, slender young woman slid through, deep violet robes adorned with gold trim neatly folded in a square, topped with a pair of metallic gold heels, all balanced on her upturned arms. She peered shyly at the naked woman and averted her gaze to the floor as she managed a curtsy in her worn slippers and patchy cotton day dress complete with pockets.

              “Good morning, your Grace.” Her tone was as timid as her demeanor. Uncertain if she should expect a response, she proceeded to unfold the robes, laying them out delicately across the daybed. She smoothed out every wrinkle. Then, she stepped aside. The naked woman turned to her and stood prim and proper, tall and stiff.

              “Please, get on with it, Adeline.” The handmaiden named Adeline had almost expected harsh words. She hesitated for only just a moment, surprised by the softness of her Majesty’s voice and the weariness it revealed.

              “Yes, your Grace.” Adeline dressed the naked woman, undergarments first, of course. Pull, tuck, pull, squeeze, tie. She then draped the robes over small, but straight shoulders, tucking each arm into each sleeve as gently as a baby’s nurse. Pull, tuck, pull, squeeze, tie. She slipped each shoe just as gently on each foot. From her pockets she pulled out a brush and began straightening out the bird’s nest on her Majesty’s head. Her Majesty grimaced ever so slightly. Tug, tug, tug, knot, pull, tug, brush. Repeat. Finally, Adeline returned the brush to her dress pocket and exchanged it for a hand mirror, which she began to lift for her Highness when her Highness waved it away.

              “I have no need to look at myself. Put that invention of vanity away. You are relieved of your duties for today.”

              “Thank you, your Highness.” With another curtsy Adeline left. The man guarding the door looked solemnly at the woman left standing in the morning light. A moment of silence passed before she pulled from under her black silk pillow a delicate box wrapped in a royal purple velvet that matched the robes she wore. She mindfully opened the box and clasped a thick tightly-woven ribbon of pure gold around her neck.

              “Ysola-”

              “Oh, we’re on a first name basis all of a sudden?” The woman whom he called Ysola, now dressed, interrupted. She whipped around to face the man at the door. He sighed, leaving his intended words to resignation, for now. He offered her his arm, which she accepted without hesitation. “Let’s get on with it,” she sighed in return.

              “They expect you to be decent, you know.” All formalities vanished. The man escorted Ysola down a hall that seemed to go on forever. His black leather armor was adorned with gold badges and brooches, all souvenirs of a distinguished career. The gold remained in the castle. The black went with him into battle. He was known for his stealth and the silence his footsteps left behind as he moved down the hall reinforced as much.

              “They expect me to be a lot of things,” Ysola responded. “We’ll see how I feel.” She paused. Tall, heavy wooden doors faced them. Beyond those doors, strangers awaited the company of the Queen.

              “What is it, Ysola?” The man asked softly. She peered up at him. A darkness cast over her eyes, but they were unwavering as she answered.

              “This is the last time I want to do this, Soren.” The man called Soren scanned the hallway around him with his eyes for passersby and bystanders. They were alone. He pulled Ysola close, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She came up to his collarbone, even with heels on. Though she didn’t move, her body lost its stiffness, if only momentarily.

              “I’m sorry. It can’t be helped. You can’t hide in your room forever.” Soren placed his hands gently on Ysola’s shoulders, stepping back to put space between them. “But, I at least will be by your side.” He attempted a smile, but the corners of his mouth only barely turned.

              “We’ll see,” murmured Ysola. She shook off his hands and turned to the double doors. “I don’t even know who’s on the other side of those doors,” she flatly remarked. There was little concern in that remark and even less interest.

              “I’m here,” Soren reminded her. He extended his forearm once again and Ysola clasped it firmly with her hands. Soren pulled a lever on the left wall and the doors creaked open away from them. Bright light spilled into the dim hallway where Ysola and Soren stood side-by-side. They didn’t realize until then that they had forgotten to light the torches.

              “I present to your excellencies, Queen Ysola of Myrran.” Soren led Ysola to the center of the room, where light from stained glass windows shone down on her as if the heavens themselves traveled between realms to speak through the Queen. He took his place beside her, standing, as Ysola sat in her gleaming gold throne. She scanned the room. In front of her sat three dignified elders. To her left, floor-to-ceiling glass windows through which she admired lush green sprawling across the castle grounds, ancient vines climbing perilously around stone towers and columns supporting the floating corridors of the main castle, and the lake just a short distance away, waters so dark they swallowed all light. She broke her eyes away from where she wished she could be and glanced to her right. Doors leading back to the corridor from which they came. Escape, should she deem it necessary. Her eyes returned to the elders who watched her closely. Ysola said nothing and sat in her throne. Silence passed for what felt like minutes.

              The old man who sat between the two old women cleared his throat and stood, breaking the silence.

              “Queen Hiyula, our deepest, deepest sympathies-”

              “Save the sympathies for your war widows,” Ysola interjected, each word thrown like a dagger. The old man fumbled for a moment. He was Elder Drosdov, one of the leaders in the Defense Council of Myrran.

              “Why we only… I- yes.” He paused. “We are here to ask for your continued assistance in the war between our lands and the Espians.”

              Ysola felt ice freeze over every square inch of her body. “Why?” She flatly asked.

              “It is crucial that we expand our resources. The Darkest Days are near us and we must prepare.”

              “We’ve given you plenty of resources,” Ysola countered. The two women to either side of Drosdov stood and spoke before the old man could respond.

              “Queen Ysola, your responsibility as Queen of Myrran is to provide for your people,” one of them said.

              “And we are your people.” The other finished.

              Ysola stood, her composure calm. The ice that had covered her body melted but a chill froze over the air.

              “You are not my people.” Ysola stated. “Elder Corin,” Ysola turned her glare towards the woman who first spoke. “My responsibility as Queen is to protect the kingdom and its resources.” She turned to the second woman. “And your responsibility is to represent the people in this kingdom.”

              Soren grew rigid with the tension in the air. He glanced at Ysola, wondering what she would do next. Before a few days ago, he would have been able to predict her next move. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

              “My Queen,” Drosdov once again spoke, “we mean you no disrespect. But, the people are weary and they need you to show strength.”

              “You know nothing about your people.” Ysola began to proceed down the platform towards the three elders. Her eyes narrowed; her voice deepened. “They don’t need me and most of all, they don’t need you.” She stopped just barely an arm’s length from them.

              “The Kingdom’s resources are preserved. Find a way to prepare on your own. The people look to you for leadership and you are failing. I am not here to save you.” She met each of their hard stares with one of her own.

              “Queen Ysola, if we cannot depend on you to survive the difficult times ahead, I’m afraid we cannot guarantee our allegiances.”

              “Is that a threat, Elder Blair?” Ysola tilted her head ever so slightly. For a second she seemed to hint a smile on her face. Soren stepped beside Ysola immediately, right hand on the helm of his sword.

              “It is a warning.” The one called Elder Blair squared her shoulders. Her long white hair was neatly pinned back, falling like an icy waterfall down her back to her hips.

              “Your people had offered that same warning to you not too long ago.” Ysola smirked, turning away back towards her throne. “I suggest you revisit that warning.” Again, she sat but this time she crossed her legs casually and leaned back, her disinterest obvious to anyone in the room. Soren took a few steps back as well, although he still kept up his guard. Not that anyone in their right mind would attempt anything rash here of all places, Soren thought.

The tension grew in the space between them but no one uttered a single word. Ysola’s overt disinterest was an unspoken challenge to the three elders, daring them to make any more requests of her. Time seemed to stand still as silence passed by. The tick and the tock of the towering grandfather clock echoed through the vastness of the room, dancing with the unease that lingered in the air.

              “Your Majesty.” Once again, Drosdov broke the silence. “It is our responsibility to speak on behalf of the people—our people; they are your people as well— as well as to protect them.” The old man began to pace, his hands gesturing at nothing in particular as he continued making their case. “There are many things going on at once all over the world and our job is to analyze and assess the situation to make the best decisions for this kingdom. As the Defense Council, it is, quite simply, inevitable that we will have to retaliate against threats if our hand is forced. This requires resources.”

              “But, you are not retaliating, Elder Drosdov. You just said you desire to expand our resources.” Ysola stated as-a-matter-of-factly. Her disinterest clearly had not wavered.

              “Allow me to explain further,” offered Drosdov. He took her silence as permission to do so. “Sometimes, the threats we face are in the future. The imminent future. To prepare for the retaliation that is to come, we have to act in the present.”

              Ysola pondered this for a moment. She was familiar with the Darkest Days; this was a prophecy told over and over again when she was growing up, repeated by not only her advisors but her own mother and father and grandmother and grandfather, too. But apart from this, she realized she did not know much else about the threats that Elder Drosdov kept referencing. What could they possibly need to retaliate against? Defending themselves, yes, that was a necessity she could understand. As far as she knew, however, the last war was fought and won by Myrran and the sacrifices of that war very much ended the prospect of any future war for at least the next century. She remembered the silver lining, as thin a sliver as it was, when all was said and done, because she had said out loud to her entire kingdom, at least now I do not have to care about any of you for the rest of my life. In just a single breath, she became the cruelest ruler Myrran had ever birthed, resented and rejected by her own people who, in the millennium that Myrran persisted, had never once desired another ruling bloodline. But, not even that could compare to the pain she felt over the events leading up to that fateful day. Her stream of consciousness in an attempt to understand the rationale Drosdov provided flowed over those events once again, this time and for the first time, in the presence of others. Her heartbeat accelerated like a warhorse gaining steam in battle. She clasped her hands, welding them together. They were clammy and trembled as she redirected her nerves to her hands as to maintain measure and control in her voice.

              “It sounds to me like you have not exhausted other options, yet,” Ysola snapped. “Have you asked the people if they would prefer to continue sending their sons and brothers and fathers into battle, into bloodshed? Perhaps they would prefer that you volunteer yourselves to establish some sense of diplomacy between our land and the threats you say we face,” she suggested coldly. The latter suggestion was certainly not the first option she would exhaust. She’d much prefer that the Elders volunteer themselves to go into battle.

              “We will have to forge alliances with new lands, Queen Hiyula.” Elder Blair stated plainly, not as a question, not a request, not a proposal.

              “Fine. Make your new alliances. Rely on someone else,” Ysola snapped. She didn’t know quite what this would mean for her kingdom but as long as she didn’t have to suffer through these meetings anymore, she didn’t quite care. It took conscientious effort to control her facial muscles and keep from rolling her eyes. Instead, she managed to just look harshly at the three Elders, who at this point were all standing, and say flatly, “Never come here asking for anything, ever again.” Soren twitched ever so slightly, his eyes shifting over to Ysola as if asking, are you really sure you mean that?

              Ysola was met with silence. The three Elders bowed and Soren met his cue to escort them out of the castle. Ysola remained in her throne, leaning back with exasperation as she sighed and tossed her head back against the seat. She waited anxiously for Soren to return and glanced at the tall wooden doors every few minutes, perking up every time she thought she heard a footstep before reminding herself that Soren was always as silent as a ghost. Lost in thoughts that made no coherent sense at all, she walked over to the tall glass windows and gazed at the Forever Lake. Even from here the waters seemed to go on forever, falling deeper and deeper within itself. Ysola felt her vision sink into it, drowning in it and hopelessly trying to escape its suffocating darkness. She couldn’t look away. Her thoughts swirled together like a hurricane, a tempest in her mind where everything was noisy and nothing made sense and it was dark and violent and raging but at the same time empty and hollow in the middle like there was nothing left in her soul. She felt her heart sink into a bottomless pit the same way her eyes drowned staring at the lake. Her body felt heavy. Her breath disappeared. And then for a moment, everything was gone. No color, no light.

              “Ysola!”

              Stillness overcame her. The voice she heard sounded far away. Like a dream.

              “Ysola, wake up!” The voice was closer now. She felt her lungs fill with water and then empty all at once. Air filled the space instead.

              “Please, Ysola,” the voice weakened. She could feel trembling around her body. Someone’s arms wrapped around her. Slowly, she regained consciousness of her body and self-awareness followed. She gasped and opened her eyes and her world was filled with light once again.

              “Ysola!” Soren’s face came into view, shock and relief washed over his face and a range of emotion came and went in his eyes. He propped her up and gently wrapped his hands around hers.

              “What happened?” muttered Ysola. She sat against the same window she had been gazing out of, now on the floor.

              “I found you on the floor, fallen over!” Soren exclaimed. The panic on his face might have been chased away by relief, but it was still there in his voice. “Are you okay?” He asked, warmly, concerned.

              “I’m…I’m fine. I think. I don’t remember why I fell. Everything just felt like it was closing in and then everything was just…gone.”

              “Has this happened before?”

              “Yes.”

Soren sighed. He knew the answer to that, of course. How silly of him to have asked anyway.

              “Let’s get you up.” He put his right arm around her and helped her up. They headed back to her chambers. Ysola breathed slowly. At her chamber doors she entered, paused, and then turned to Soren who stood strong and silent just outside the doors. His eyes were soft as he looked at her.

              “I meant it when I said that was the last time I’m doing this,” Ysola reminded him. “You’ll have to take my place,” she shakily added, wrapping her arms around herself. She looked away, unable to bear meeting his kind, patient, compassionate eyes. Soren’s shoulders dropped. Worry filled his eyes to the brim. He stepped inside her room with her and closed the doors. Removing his leather armor he tossed it on the black armchair to his left.

              “I know things have been a nightmare. Exhausting.” His voice was measured, but soft and emotional. He put his hands on her shoulders once again, strong and reassuring. Taking a deep breath, he said, “But, you can get through this. I’m here with you, I’ll help you.” Ysola was silent.

              “I can’t take your place, Ysola. I have my duties, too, and I can’t do both.”

              “Fuck duty.” Ysola whispered, her breath shaking even more. She clenched her fists. She stared at the ground, wishing a hole would open up and swallow her, just her, right where she stood. “Fuck duty, fuck the law, fuck the traditions that have ‘withstood the test of time’!” She mocked as her eyes filled with salty, burning tears. Soren felt her shoulders shake and wrapped his arms around her once more, pulling her into his chest.

              “Ysola, I know, I know none of it makes sense right now. But, you’re strong. Please, just let me help you.” Ysola wiped her face on his white cotton shirt.

              “You can’t help me,” she sobbed, “nobody can!” Her words were just barely coherent, spilling out between sobs gilled with anguish and grief. “I miss him, Soren. I miss him so much. He is gone forever and it’s my fault.” She ended her words in a weak whisper.

              “Hush. That is nonsense. You didn’t do anything, Ysola. This is not your fault, it’s…it’s just life. It’s an unfair and unfortunate life, and this is a tragedy. But, you did nothing wrong.” He held her closer, stroking her hair.

              “It’s not that I did nothing wrong, Soren. It’s that I did nothing. And I know nothing. I couldn’t have done anything differently even if I knew to.” She clutched his shirt as her knees buckled. Soren caught her and she cried into his shoulder on the ground as he held her.

              “I can’t live without him. I won’t.”

              “Don’t say that. He would want you to live on. Live for him.”

              “No.”

              “Ysola, please.” Soren grew desperate. He’d never felt fear like he felt now. This fear that started in Ysola invaded him and he felt the despair that was haunting her these past several weeks. She was shaking uncontrollably in his arms and he only could think to hold her tighter.

              Ysola sobbed silently for several minutes. Then, she stopped. She was completely still.

              “Soren,” she sniffled and looked at him. He felt like he was looking back at a ghost.

              “I’m pregnant.”

              Soren stared at her, in shock. He wanted to say something but the words hung on his tongue and refused to part with his mouth.

              “I don’t think I’ll survive.”

              Several months later, Ysola survived. She held a soft, smiling baby girl in her arms who looked at her with a love that filled her heart just like the child’s father once did. Ysola wanted to absorb her, shield her with her body away from the cruelties of the world. It was unfair, unjust, evil that such a pure and innocent and wonderful thing was born into this world, she thought.

              “What is her name?” Soren asked. The baby wrapped her tiny, delicate hand around his pointer finger and giggled. Her laughter seemed to turn everything in the room to gold.

              “I don’t know,” Ysola answered. She was mesmerized by the tiny flecks of amber in her child’s eyes. They reminded her of him.

              “You’ll know soon enough, I’m sure,” Soren pondered thoughtfully. He too, was enamored by the new life within these walls.

              The night saw Ysola and her newborn child nestled in her arms, the two of them alone as Ysola stood at her window and dreamed about the world collapsing into itself, swallowing her with it. She imagined her child returning to her, inside her. Reverting to a single cell that was filled with possibilities not yet born.

              Ysola actually slept that night and her baby laid peacefully beside her. Ysola woke with the sunrise. She picked up her child and held her against her breast in a tight embrace. “Let’s watch the sunrise,” she whispered. In her white nightgown, sheer and long, she made her way outside of the castle. She felt the grass, wet with morning dew, under her feet. The thin blades tickled her bare feet. She breathed in the crisp air and felt the warmth of the rising sun swim under her sleeves and embrace her skin. The baby opened her eyes, dazed by the light of the day slowly emerging in the horizon from its own slumber. She smiled and Ysola smiled, too, for the first time in nearly a year. She walked across the lush green grass past the stone watch towers, stopping at the bank of Forever Lake. She peered into the waters fearlessly. Here, there was no light. The sunlight vanished here even though the sky above glowed. How deep does it go? She wondered. Her baby cooed and she rocked her gently as she pondered the depths of the lake and what awaited at the bottom. She put a foot in the water. It felt cool and even clean, somehow. She couldn’t see her foot. Was it gone? She wondered if she could feel it or if it was just her imagination. She withdrew her leg from the water and observed that her foot indeed was still attached. The hem of her nightgown grazed the water. She leaned down and dipped her baby in the water—just her little feet, in and out of the water. The baby babbled about and giggled as she felt the refreshing water splash her toes.

              “It’s not so bad, is it, dear?” Ysola murmured softly. She began to walk into the lake, stopping when the water rose to her waist, her baby in her arms at her side just above her waist.

              “Ysola?” Soren’s voice rang from afar, but Ysola did not turn to see him. She held her baby in her hands and looked at her big, dark eyes, amber specks twinkling in the sunlight. “Ysola, what are you doing out there? Come back!” Soren was close. He made no effort to hide his panic.

              “It’ll be okay,” she reassured her child, bringing the baby into her chest once again, holding her with just her right arm. She inhaled and closed her eyes.

              “Ysola, please come back!” Soren was almost at the bank of the lake. His voice was desperate. “Ysola, please-” his voice broke.

              Ysola dove into the water with her baby. All sound and all light were gone. She opened her eyes as she pushed herself deeper and deeper in the black waters. She aimed for the bottom even though she had no idea where the bottom was. Her baby made no sound. Air bubbled up for a moment and then the water was still. Ysola felt her eyes closing, the darkness unchanging. She felt her left arm stop pushing and pulling the water; she felt all resistance cease. She felt her body disappear and a weight floated away from her right arm. The emptiness plaguing her soul had consumed her from the inside out. Finally, the world gave her what she wanted and swallowed her whole.