The Maharaja And I : Inspired by Bridgerton

Epilogue

Epilogue: Vijayanagara Court Records - Year 1554

Scribed by: Veera Narasimha, Archivist of Dust and Shadows.

The weight of seventy-five years presses upon me, a crushing reminder of the cosmic insignificance of a single life. Yet, the memory of Devika, Maharani of Vijayanagara, remains a festering wound in the fabric of time.

The shadow that fell upon her after the ill-fated journey to the mountain monastery was not of this world. Her eyes, once vibrant pools reflecting the innocent sun, now held the glint of stolen knowledge, a chilling glimpse into the abyss. Suryadev, our King, bore the same mark – a haunted weariness that spoke of a bargain struck with powers beyond human comprehension.

They returned, shrouded in a silence thicker than the miasma that clings to forgotten crypts. The whispers, like skittering centipedes in the night, spoke of a monstrous pact, a truth so dreadful it curdled the blood. Yet, like a moth drawn to a flickering flame, I felt an unholy curiosity gnaw at my sanity. What secrets did the cyclopean monolith perched upon that forsaken mountain hold? What eldritch entities did they commune with in its shadowed depths?

Fifteen children, like fragile blossoms forced to bloom in a charnel house, blessed their union. Each birth a desperate attempt, perhaps, to dilute the encroaching darkness with the innocence of new life. Devika, a specter of her former self, nurtured them with an unsettling tenderness, her lullabies laced with an unearthly melody that sent shivers down my spine.

The night they vanished, the moon hung like a malevolent eye in the inky void. No farewell, no struggle – just an empty chamber, the air thick with the stench of sulfur and forgotten lore. A single, withered rose lay upon the silken sheets, its crimson stain mimicking a cruel smile carved by unseen claws.

The search party returned with nothing but whispers – whispers of the mountain monastery, a place of unspeakable power and cosmic horror. They claimed the King and Queen had returned to appease a slumbering entity, a monstrous guardian of secrets older than time.

Vijayanagara mourned, yet a sickly unease festered beneath the surface. The reign that followed was prosperous, yes, but tainted by a creeping madness. The children, now grown, hold the kingdom in their hands. They speak of Devika and Suryadev with a twisted reverence, their eyes holding the same glint of forbidden knowledge.

As I write these final words, the wind howls like a tormented spirit outside my window. In the flickering lamplight, the shadows writhe and twist, assuming monstrous shapes. The whispers grow louder, more insistent, chanting a name in a language that chills my soul to its core. Is it Devika's name they speak? Or something far older, far more dreadful?

I fear the truth, for it lies beyond the veil of sanity, in the cyclopean darkness that lurks beyond the mountain's jagged maw. Perhaps it is better left undisturbed, a forgotten horror in the annals of a dying kingdom. For within the depths of that darkness, a truth stirs – a truth that promises madness and the ultimate oblivion.