Post Mortem : The Fates

Chapter 6

Chapter 6: Anthia

"We had an artist draw the portrait for the posters your majesty." So desperately this guard awaited the Queen's approval. It was approval he was unlikely to receive.

The narrow hallway was barely wide enough for the two guards before her as they stood side by side blocking her way.

"Would you like to see one?" They both wore their usual chainmail suits and helmets. The only fabric was draped over their upper torsos, red with her phoenix crest. She wondered if she should heat the metal hot enough to roast them alive. That might be fun, but of course she never much cared for killing without just cause and while neither one was worth her time she could not deny the loyalty they shared. Though she was aware they had names with as many men and women that had come in and out of her life, names were always tricky, even faces blurred together. This left her only truly being able to focus on the names and faces of her sons.

She, the Queen, had everything she desired but still after so many years she grew bored and barely felt any form of emotion anymore. The moments where she felt anything where just brief seconds in her hundreds of years of life.

Somehow before the messenger pigeon had come she had woken with this odd sensation, a feeling of foreboding and unease. Something very big was coming. And now a marked girl, fully grown at that, had gone missing. It did not sit right with her. She had been so careful, even charitable when it was not deserved and yet a girl roamed free. Other women could rarely be trusted; they always knew how to hurt you the most. Men preferred to use physical pain against another which can be endured and healed, women knew the true way to harm another; hurting from within. Women were not to be trusted. This was why she could not allow any marked ones to be female.

"Fine, show me." She was impatient almost tapping her feet on the concrete.

The guards proceeded to do so and handed her a thick and tan piece of paper which she snatched away. Shock crippled her as she glanced down at the charcoal portrait of a girl. Her heart skipped a beat.

It cannot be.

"Your majesty is something wrong?" His voice was faint over the rushing of her blood throughout her being. She was nauseous and dizzy. A spark of fear had hit her.

Without taking her eyes from the portrait she asked, "The girl's mother was brought here last night, does she still live?".

"Yes, Owen has been questioning her for information in the dungeon."

Afraid of looking at the portrait any longer, she folded the paper twice keeping it in her hand and trudged down corridors and winding stairs to get to the dungeon area blocked off by a single brass door. She never liked it there; it was filthy and smelled of mold and blood.

The Queen was welcomed with the sound of soft whimpering which began to crescendo into screaming. The guards never left her sides. One stepped forward and opened the door holding it with fierce precision for her. The smell of copper hit like a tidal wave.

Inside, a woman's arms were hung up in chains connected to the wall. She was bloody and beaten. It was difficult to assess the damage, there was too much blood in the way. She had stopped screaming as they entered the room. Torches hung on the walls, the orange flicker they gave off were the only light in the little windowless room. Owen stood next to a long mahogany table filled with magnificent tools. Sharp needle like points, tools designed to rip flesh from bone, and wrench-like objects, managed to make the Queen quiver her lips almost in a smile.