His Prophecy

I

I am still covered in my father's blood. It's embedded under my fingernails and crusted onto the rubies of my favorite dress. He's lucky it blends into the crimson gems enough to be unnoticeable to someone who's not looking, or I would fish him out of the river myself just to kill him all over again. I paid good money for this dress.

It's been a week since my father's blood has been on my hands (both literally and figuratively) and that son of a bitch still refuses to leave me alone. Who would've thought how hard it'd be to get blood stains out? Next time I'll be sure to wear a cheaper dress, and perhaps some gloves.

As I walk to my bedroom door, the sound of my midnight black heels clack along the tiled floor, a floor so shiny I can see my reflection. I smooth my black hair down into the careful braid I put it in, and quickly check that my gold corset and ruby-filled dress look presentable.

When I reach the door, I quickly rub my eyes and nose aggressively until they turn red. I force myself to portray a solemn expression and yank open the lavish door, immediately coming face-to-face with the Queen of Thebes.

"Hello, mother," I say. How is a grieving princess supposed to act around her mother on the day of her father's funeral? I wouldn't know. Personally, I'm having a great day, far from grieving.

"Oh, Ophelia," she embraces me, sobbing into my shoulder.

Great. Now my dress is covered in blood and snot.

"How could this happen? This shouldn't be happening right now. He was a great king. He had no enemies. So why is this happening?" She starts crying even harder, struggling to talk in between gasps of breath.

Quick say something. Wait no start crying. HURRY CRY. What do I do? What would someone who's sad say?

"I don't know." "I don't know"?? What kind of person says that? Ugh I'm so stupid.

If you couldn't tell, this was my first murder. It's a good thing everyone in the castle is too delusional with grief to inspect me too closely.

"We should probably go, ma. It's going to start soon," I tell the still sobbing queen. I lightly grab her wrist and start dragging her down the halls with me. I don't even know if she's fully aware anymore. Ever since the news broke that the beloved King of Thebes was dead, my mother became a shell of a person. Either her face was completely blank, lost within herself, or she was hysterically crying until she passed out. It was times like these I felt guilty for what I did. I didn't want to hurt my mother, but if I could go back and kill my father all over again, I'd do it a million times.

As we get closer to the courtyard doors, more and more people start bustling about, helping with the last minute preparations before the king's funeral. All the workers are adorned in head-to-toe black, in a less bejeweled version of my mother's outfit, as is customary.

Black velvet ribbons are strung along seemingly every bright white marble pillar of the courtyard, covering the normal navy blue of the family crest. The distant salt water of the ocean wafts a blood-like smell over the scene. How fitting.

In the middle of the courtyard lies a circular navy blue rug. Surrounding it is a spiked gold fence, its edges glistening in the sunlight. At the very center of the setup lies my father's crown atop a marble pedestal. Normally, the body of the deceased Royal is in its place, however, since the king's body was never found (thanks to my amazing body-hiding skills), his crown represents him today. It is tradition for royal bodies to be burned so that their ashes can become one with their kingdom, but the crown is the one that will burn today. I'm not too sure how that will work with all the metal and jewels on it. I don't really want to inhale all that gross stuff, but I suppose it's better than inhaling burnt flesh.