Queen's Light

The Wound

Conri was gone. Prongs was gone.

All because of this stupid war.

Once again, Damien had taken away everything she held dear.

Why did they not understand? Why could she not bring herself to explain things better than she did? Why such a dichotomy among her dearest friends, the friends she would have killed for.

Her eyes burned as she lay crumpled over her desk, a note relating the news of both Conri and Prongs' disappearances crushed between her fingers. It had been hours ago since it had been delivered to her. She'd been sobbing over her desk like a helpless fairytale princess ever since.

More than anything, she wanted to talk to Conri. She wanted to sit down with her, tell her everything the knight wanted to know.

Why did she deserve to be queen when she couldn't even keep peace within her own castle? Conri was right, there was no point in a war with the east. But did they not see her own hesitation? She didn't want war any more than they did.

She snatched up the dagger that rested on her desk, pressing it against her wrist. She could do it. She could take her life. It would be so easy, so simple. Just a flick of her wrist, a few moments' wait. All of her problems would vanish. Everything would vanish. No more dreams that left her with less than an hour's sleep every night, no more wars to worry about, no more of the others' sharp glares from across vacant halls when they think her back is turned, no more paranoia of shadows in the night.

No more.

Her fingers tensed. Blood trickled down her hand. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes.

The dagger clattered out of her grip. She couldn't do it, was too much of a coward to bow out so quickly. Conri, Prongs, the others, they...they had the luxury of being able to leave, to cast off their problems without taking their own lives. She did not.

Her hand was sticky with blood. It left stains on her sleeve and the desk before her. She would have cried, but she had nothing left in her but her own frustration.

Simmering, she stood, yanking the rings from her fingers and the jewels from her neck. She threw them into a chair as she passed through the parlor on her way to her bedroom. She grabbed her cloak, throwing it over her shoulders and pulling up its hood as she strode out of her room.

A red haze seemed to have settled itself across her vision. She didn't care who saw her leaving, she didn't care whether she was followed, she didn't care that she went mostly unguarded. There was little in her but her own apathy and anger.

Snow fell lightly through the darkness outside. The moon was in its waning phases, and there was naught but a little sliver seen peeking out from the clouds.

Rhiannon walked. She walked out of the castle grounds, beyond its protective stone walls. She walked through the market square, her footsteps squelching in the wet snow. She was much too loud, much too conspicuous, but she didn't care.

So when she turned the corner and was met with a blade digging into her lower abdomen, she wasn't exactly surprised.

A man, cloaked in shadows. How had she not seen him? He grinned, his pearly teeth glistening in the pale light.

"They told me you would fight back," he said. "I'm disappointed, to say the least. I was hoping for a duel."

He shoved her backwards, off of his bloodied knife.

She stumbled, clutching her stomach, blood seeping through her fingers, spilling onto the stones below. She had minutes, at best. She coughed, tasting copper.

The man who had stabbed her was gone, though she hadn't noticed him run away.

An involuntary shudder ran through her, and she collapsed onto her back. The pain hit her, washing over her with waves of dizziness and fatigue. She rolled onto her side, every shallow breath intensifying the sensation in her gut.

Perhaps the gods were just finishing the job she'd almost done herself only an hour before. Perhaps this was meant to happen.

Her vision blurred as the reality of her imminent death hit her. She would never gossip over breakfast with Conri again. She would never share another precious moment of friendship with Prongs. She would never share another story with Aedre, or laugh at Klara's ridiculous antics again, or...or...

Oh...

This would break him as he'd never been broken before.

A shadow to her left moved. Whether it was her imagination or just an innocent spectator, Rhiannon no longer cared. Whatever the case, it meandered over to her, then knelt beside her, hovering a hand over her heart.

"This is not your time, Úmrtia." The voice permeated the air, slithering through her mind. "This is only the beginning."

She had the sensation of floating, if only for a fleeting moment, before she blinked and the figure was gone and the pain returned.

Darkness threatened to consume her.

You all know the drill. Rp away.