Black and White

Epilogue

The crown is heavy upon my brow, perfectly fit to my large forehead. It is a materialistic reminder of the consequences of my recent actions. I lift it off of the stubbles that now make up my hair with shaking fingers, placing it down on top of the overly ornate jewelry box.

The box is a gift, as almost all of the things in my expansive room are. All are delicate, beautiful, mostly unusable things that hold all their worth in the uselessness they present. It's all part of the same facade of beauty that fills the creatures' lives.

I examine the gems that decorate the pointed ends of the black crown. It winks in the light, the same shade of red of the rings that are placed on my middle and ring finger respectively. They are still drenched in blood, the one on my ring finger covered in the color of the love-torn hearts and the other covered in the darkest midnight, no stars or escaping lights.

I need to clean them.

But my mind and body are elsewhere as I change out of my extravagant ball gown, the patterned, red, yellow, green, and blue fabric that spreads along the floor in a wide train. The actual skirts are held up by a considerable structure of hoop-like devices that connect to my waist, under my corset, on top of the shift.

The corset smooths out the appearance of the bodice. A plunging neckline paired with off the shoulder sleeves gives the upper body a look of 19th-century familiarity. The pattern is not vintage at all, but the form itself is slightly reminiscent of the dresses I would see at various fairs and TV shows that I visited or saw in my early childhood.

It is hard to take off, the column of buttons parading down my back too small to grip well. They are made to disappear, blending into the pattern well enough that I cannot undo them. Zahra, also known as the servant woman, had brought an entire team with her before the coronation. It was worthwhile, my face and body transformed into a more delicate version of myself, but by the Gods it was annoying to get out of by myself.

Away went the shadows under my eyes, away went the fullness of my face that I have worked so hard to regain, hidden by the makeup they had once used to make my face appear fuller, and away went my now slightly fuller stomach, sucked into a corset that was tightened much too much. It seems that the creatures are a fickle thing, they want a healthy-looking victor, yet not healthy enough that they look alive.

Finally, the dress is thrown to the floor, then the corset, then the hoops, and finally I am left in just my shift and underwear. I quickly change from the shift into a loose black blouse and tight pants, almost jeans but softer and more comfortable. I grab a plain dagger and a dark leather-like belt with various holders, shoving the blade into one of them. After fastening that to my waist I move onto the socks and boots, before it is time for a hooded black cloak that falls to my ankles.

The only step left for me is to leave the room.

A simple step, though the two guards positioned outside the door of my bedroom complicates it slightly. They have stood there, the horned masks covering their faces so as to hide them in a way that does not clue me into whether or not they switch with others, for every day and night since my first time back to the world. It does not appear they would stop me from doing anything, but it also does not appear they would not hesitate to follow me to ensure my "safety", extreme emphasis on the quotation marks.

No, no this needs to be done alone.

I pace, my body vibrating with unreleased energy. Soft snores come from the pile of pillows near the canopy bed with draping curtains that flutter gently in the wind. Isla sleeps peacefully on the plush, makeshift bed. Sitting in front of her, I let my fingers drift through her rough fur. The movement causes my shoulders to drop and my breathing to slow. My eyes flutter open and close. She doesn't stir.