A Tale Of Shadows (Wattys 2023) - REPLACED BY DIVINE ASCENSION

Part 3, Chapter 1 - Forsaken

In the months that followed, things refused to get better for Melinda. In her heart, she felt even more degradation than she had before, if that were somehow possible. Strands of her hair began to fall at random, slowly but surely turning silver, her skin began to become pale and brittle as chalk, and the lively gleam in her eyes began to dullen. She knew what it had to mean. The book was starting to turn against her. By killing Malcolm, she had killed any chance of finding true human connection, which she had always strived towards. But she could not do so anymore. People without a soul were barely alive, which she was starkly reminded of every time she sensed a dull ache within her chest.

But that was not all. One day, she counted that it was exactly nine months after she got pregnant with her son, whom she was going to name William. It was not a matter that brought her joy, even though she believed it would. Back when she believed that, little did she know what would start happening to the baby, and what warnings about the process of its birth would start looming over her head. Her nurse had diagnosed her with a lower chance of having more children than she already had, to put it lightly. All signs were pointing toward William's death in the womb, and on that day, the boy seemed to have stopped breathing, thus she quickly went to her nurse.

In the time during which the nurse was inspecting her, she observed the room she was in for the who-knows-which instance, once more finding it to be unbelievably boring. The walls, which had begun to peel as of late, were a pale shade of yellow, one of them having a window and the others nothing. The pots were empty since the last flowers in them had withered, and replacing them would take some time. On the night table beside her, an empty cup lay, completely alone. At least the utter lifelessness of the room detracted from her own.

After a while, the nurse let out a deep sigh. "Madam Bellerose, I am truly sorry."

"I will be fine," Melinda said, laughing a little. "As long as I am going to be able to birth more children, I will be fine."

"You know what they say about life, my queen-"

Melinda scowled. "Life is but a disappointment after disappointment, and nothing can be done to stop it."

The other woman's eyes became wide open. "That is not what I was trying to say."

Melinda did not care about that at all. Life disgusted her. She had feared infertility for years because she liked to see her womb as a garden, where each fetus was like a bud waiting to blossom into a beautiful flower, but out of five, only one had bloomed, and none could be planted any more. Dry soil, uprooted ground, withered stalks. A still-water graveyard. In all its darkness and silence, her garden stood out amongst all those who grew beautifully. It had to mean something, she was certain of it. 

But there were other things to do. She had to go to her concentration camps, and perhaps politics could help her mend her soul. After all, they were always a welcome distraction.

Randall was sitting at the top of the table, accompanied by no one, eating his breakfast in small bites. His meal was porridge with onion, which she could smell from afar, her face stiffening because of it. He bent his head at the bowl, staring at it intensely like a dark cloud was hovering over his head. It was how she tended to eat her food as well, especially in these recent times. Although she found the similarity interesting, she did not pay it much attention, simply walking over to him instead. He rushed to swallow the last bite while she was giving him a stern look, accidentally biting the spoon as well. Upon returning the spoon into the bowl, he began talking to her.

"What is disturbing you, my queen?"

The way he said that sentence surprised her way more than the words within it ever could. For a reason she could not comprehend, he seemed to be genuinely concerned for her. It left her silent for a moment. Why would a slave, a man so tortured by her, be talking to her like that? Perhaps he was merely playing along, as she would have done two years beforehand, but a part of her wanted to believe that somehow, he still respected her to an extent. However, she could not let him know, so she gave him a blank gaze.

"I have nothing to be disturbed by, not when there is a plan in my head that promises a true revolution, and when you hear the whole of it, you will surely agree," she spoke, pausing for a moment. "If I am to have an empire, it cannot consist solely of two states, as I have concluded a while ago. My power, and my influence, might take a blow if I do not spread my reach across the rest of the world. On the other hand, conquering the entirety of it would not be a good idea either. Not only would it be an act of high cost in both money and time, which would be near-impossible to afford right now, but it would also be hard to manage, justify, or find a reason for."

Randall raised an eyebrow. "You seem to have gone off on a tangent. What is your actual plan?"

"I aim to conquer Eade," she said plainly. "But, before doing so, I will first conquer a few other, smaller countries, thus making the difference in their might bigger. It is a brilliant plan, is it not? What is even better is my certainty that, in a brief amount of time, I will be able to realise it."

"How about you give all of that up? How about you return to who you once were?" he said, throwing his hands in the air.

Melinda snorted. "That is never going to happen. My husband may return and the universe may explode in an abhorrent display of fire, but I am not getting off the road I have taken."

Randall scowled. "There is no need to be this dramatic, kingslayer. I am simply trying to get you to admit that you need a lot of help. Being too prideful to ask for it has already ruined your life. It would be folly to keep being so stubborn."

"Then I suggest you stay away from the matters which do not concern you. I can freely say that it would be of much help."

"No one will be helped if things remain like this."

"You will help both you and me if you accept your rightful place."

"You have no right to keep me in this position."

"The throne gives me the right to do what I think is the best for this country. It is never going to return to its greatest ages, and I am not a good person, but in several years' time, wealth is going to increase, language reforms are going to start spreading, and as long as we keep the disturbances at bay, nothing is going to happen."

Randall blinked twice. "Am I a disturbance to you? And what about all those less fortunate than me, the young and the old, the weak and the disabled? Are they disturbances too?"

"It is easier to make you all remain in one place. What would be of me and my psyche if I had to give everyone rights?" she said, flicking her hand. "How stable would my position be if there were more people who could take it?"

"Like who, for example?" Randall told her, trying not to yell at her.

She pointed at him as though he were a freak. "Like you, Mister Carson. Or perhaps some of your friends, like Agatha or Alexander, but, according to my theories, you are the most likely candidate. I know that you are going to have a revolution sometime soon. Who else would be at the helm, and what else could it be for? If I am not careful, I am certain I will end up here, and you will have my power."

"We were all created from the same soil, and we will all return to it someday. Why cannot I have a decent life, which I had never quite gotten, despite my hard efforts, and to emphasize my point, what about the worse off? We want to have a bit of normalcy, a life without constant worry about survival and what the next day will bring. Do you understand what I am saying, Madam Bellerose?"

Melinda coughed. "I never would have expected a peasant like you to speak so eloquently. But unfortunately, I am not the one whom one can deceive easily, as everyone, even the kindest of hearts, can be seduced by the allure of darkness. I may leave now."

This experience worsened her attitude towards him and those like him. He grew ever more tired, as evidenced by his greying hair, newfound wrinkles, especially on his forehead, darker circles under his eyes, and a weaker physical state in general. Although he knew that she would stop at nothing to thwart his attempts, there would still be a revolution, still at an unknown date and uncertainty when it comes to everything, but there would be one. Someday, there would be justice again.