The Ruler's Rift

The Rupture

Celeste thanked her guards for helping her inside. She held her collected façade until she reached her dark, cold office. She sunk into the chair before her desk, surrounded by piles of books and scrolls.

Built as a place to do work more comfortably than in the throne, the room was now a prison yet one with a depressive, alluring sense of belonging. The queen sank further into her chair, drinking a glass of blood she'd saved from a victim.

The base of the glass clinked to the floor. "This is what you wanted, isn't it?" Celeste muttered. Deep in the belly of the palace, this room bore no windows. Celeste hadn't the strength to light a candle - not with magic nor kerosene.

Still, even in the abiding dark, she saw the painting of her mother. It was the only one she'd left intact. "No...I guess not," the demon corrected. "You would've wanted me to kill her, like you killed your lovers."

Posture failed the monarch and she slumped in her chair like a corpse. She waited for the portrait to reply, and she'd wait an eternity if she had to, but she knew that it would not speak a word. In the silence and the darkness, Celeste welcomed tears. She trembled, thoughts rolling in in her mind, melting into each other until all her notions were a thick, senseless soup. "I just..." Her voice broke up. "I just...don't...get it..." Tears dotted Celeste's velvety robes.

And as she wept, sadness and anger warred. Was she truly so unlovable? Lucille was so disgusted by her. Her own mother couldn't even spare her a moment and her father was likely the same. So used to putting up a front - alone in this cage Celeste still resisted her sorrow. She swallowed her tears and choked on them, unrelenting in her quest to maintain composure. Finally a spear of blame smashed through, and her downpour followed.

Clawed hands slammed the desk and Celeste fixed her eyes as daggers on the portrait. "What did I do to deserve this!? Huh!? Tell me what that poor, lonely, scared little princess did to you!" Angrily sobbing, Celeste continued as if Violet truly stood before her. "You're dead but you hurt me every day! If you loved me, maybe then I wouldn't be so starved and desperate for it! I've tried everything...but it's just handed to everyone else! They don't have to put up with people like that fucking dog just to...just to feel loved..."

The queen collapsed onto the desk, face buried in her folded arms. Her body convulsed as she sobbed. "If you had just loved me, maybe I wouldn't have to love myself so much..."

Determined to drown in her own tears, Celeste's chest remained sprawled across her desk as she emptied her sorrow. She belonged here, alone in the dark, she knew she did. No attempt to pick up the fallen glass, no attempt to raise her head; she combed through her life and pondered how she got here.

It was then when light sliced into the dark daze. The queen inhaled her remaining tears and sluggishly pulled herself upright, but she didn't face the door. "What?" She asked in the most even voice she could.

With a creak, the beam of light widened and warmed the office. "Celeste? What's wrong?" Asked Amber.

Celeste only sniffled - louder than she wanted. Finally, she managed an answer. "Everything is fine," she lied.

"Then why are you crying?"

"Nothing, just...Lucy left. That's all." Vying to speak calmly proved pointless. "It's no big deal. I figured that was coming. I don't need her."

Amber made a series of sighs and unfinished sentences. None were any comfort to the queen, so she continued, "You don't have to say anything. I told you it's fine."

"It doesn't seem like it." Amber muttered.

Celeste shook. "It's fine." She repeated. In her cracked, weak voice, she revealed an ember of truth. "...I'm so alone..."