Living Like a Mouse? How About a Lion?

Breaking the Facade

You think I'm mad? Oh, honey, you haven't seen anything yet.

The moment Callisto entered the room, the tension tripled. The kind of weight in the air that presses down on everyone, making it hard to breathe. Nobles shifted uncomfortably in their seats, their eyes darting between him, the head still in that blood-soaked bag on the ground, and... well, me. They were waiting for someone—anyone—to regain control of this banquet that had spiraled completely off the rails.

And who better to take the reins than little old me?

My smile never wavered as I took a step toward the gruesome gift Callisto had brought. It wasn't the first time I'd seen a severed head, but I could tell by the pale faces around me that for many of these delicate aristocrats, it was.

I strolled over to the bag, as if I was merely picking up a stray handkerchief. Slowly, deliberately, I reached inside and pulled the head out by its hair. Blood dripped onto the pristine marble floor, but I didn't care. The nobles could hardly contain their horror.

Oh, they're going to love this.

Turning the severed head around in my hands, I inspected it like it was an intriguing work of art. "You know," I mused, my voice casual, "I think this would make a lovely addition to the royal collection."

A few nobles gasped in horror, but I continued, locking eyes with the Empress herself. Oh, she was trying so hard to maintain her regal composure, but I could see it—the twitch of her lips, the way her hands tightened ever so slightly around her wine glass.

"Don't you think?" I said, raising the head a little higher, examining it like a prized gem. "It would suit the Queen quite nicely, actually. After all, she does seem rather eager to kill the Crown Prince. Maybe she can start a new trend with this."

The room was dead silent. No one dared breathe. And honestly? That silence was delicious.

Truth is a funny thing, isn't it?

For once, I wasn't playing the part of the meek, broken noblewoman. I wasn't the quiet one enduring their cruelty with a tight smile. No, I was Penelope Eckhart—the mad dog. And I was done pretending.

I locked eyes with the Queen again, this time with a knowing smirk. "You've all been so good at pretending everything's fine," I said, slowly walking toward her, still holding the severed head like it was some sort of prized accessory. "But let's face it. We're all playing the same game, aren't we?"

I could see her faltering now. Oh, she tried to keep up that royal facade, but there was a crack in it—a thin line of fear that flickered across her gaze.

There it is. 

Gotcha.

"You can keep lying to yourself," I continued, my tone sweet as honey, "but we both know how this ends."

I dropped the head onto the table with a sickening thud, and the blood from its severed neck splattered across the immaculate linens. More gasps, more horrified faces. The Queen's lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn't say anything.

Oh, but you're thinking it, aren't you?

"What's the matter?" I asked, tilting my head innocently. "Too much truth for you?"

I took a step back, letting the scene sink in. The aristocrats sat frozen, unable to process the horror unfolding before them. But this? This wasn't horror to me. This was freedom. I was done hiding behind their illusions, and they were finally seeing me for who I really was. A dangerous mad dog—unleashed.

Callisto stood silently by the door, arms crossed, watching everything with the faintest smirk on his lips. He wasn't surprised by any of this, of course. No, this was exactly what he expected from me. Maybe even what he wanted.

Well, Callisto, you wanted a show.

 Are you entertained?

But I didn't stop there. Oh no, I wasn't done.

"The truth," I continued, turning to face the room once more, "is that you're all just as mad as I am. The difference is, I'm done pretending. You all sit there in your fancy clothes, sipping your expensive wine, while stabbing each other in the back with smiles on your faces."

I walked around the table, pacing slowly as I spoke, making sure to meet the eyes of every noble who had ever whispered behind my back or treated me like dirt. "But here's the fun part," I said, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You can't touch me. Not anymore."

Another gasp, this time from one of the younger noblewomen, her hand flying to her mouth as if I'd just uttered some unspeakable curse.

I stopped pacing and turned to face the room head-on, arms outstretched. "So go ahead," I said, my voice loud and clear. "Judge me. Call me crazy. Say whatever you want. But the truth is, none of you can do a damn thing about it."

I grabbed the severed head again, lifting it high as if presenting it to the room like a trophy. "Because this?" I said, shaking the head for emphasis. "This is the only truth that matters now. And if you're all too scared to face it—then maybe it's time for a change."

I tossed the head back into the bloody bag and wiped my hands on the tablecloth, ignoring the horrified looks being thrown my way. Honestly, I couldn't care less.

Let them scream. Let them gasp. Let them burn.

And then I turned to Callisto, who hadn't moved an inch, his smirk now fully formed on his face. I raised an eyebrow at him, my heart still racing with adrenaline, and gave him the slightest nod.

Two mad dogs, indeed.

Without another word, I walked out of the banquet hall, leaving behind the shocked, speechless aristocrats, the bloody head, and the shattered remains of their pretty little illusions. The world of the nobles was a stage, and tonight, I had torn down the curtains.

As I stepped into the night air, I felt a strange sense of calm wash over me. I had done it. I had finally stopped pretending.

Now, let's see what they do when the mad dog bares her fangs.