The villagers never questioned why the castle lights remained dim after the grand wedding. The prince and princess had married, the curse had broken, and magic had been restored. That should have been enough. But stories never end when they say "happily ever after." They unravel in silence.
Queen Lira sat alone on the parapet of the eastern tower, where the wind bit and howled like a wounded beast. Her eyes lingered on the twisted skeletons of the once-lush forest beyond the kingdom walls. Time had turned the greenwood grey. Roots, brittle and blackened, clawed the soil as if the land itself rejected its own life.
She barely noticed the cold anymore. She barely noticed anything.
Not since the dreams started.
Every night, the same haunting vision: a silver door in the castle cellar, hidden beneath dust and centuries. A whisper slithered through its seams, seductive and ancient, always calling her name. And behind the door—blood. Rivers of it. Soaking the stones, spilling from her wrists. Or Kael’s.
Sometimes she dreamt she was holding a sword, its tip pressed into Kael’s chest. His eyes, wide in betrayal. His lips mouthing a final, unanswered question: "Why?"
She always woke with her heart clawing against her ribs. But every morning, the king lay beside her—whole, alive, smiling in his sleep.
And yet... wrong. Somehow.
Kael had changed after the wedding. Or maybe he hadn't. Maybe it was she who changed. The way he kissed her became perfunctory. His smiles, courteous. His presence, distant. Each time she entered the throne room, he was already deep in scrolls or conversation, nodding politely but never truly seeing her.
She had tried. Gods, she had tried. Dressed in the gowns he once admired. Written him poetry. Brought him the first bloom of spring from the garden she’d revived with her own blood. But Kael’s affections withered faster than the petals.
He started delegating her duties. Where once they had ruled side by side, now he sent her to host banquets, smile for portraits, pose as a figurehead while he signed decrees in secret. The courtiers whispered. Some pitied her. Others chuckled behind their fans.
And when the child never came, he looked at her like a cracked crown.
Lira began to retreat. Into herself. Into the forgotten corners of the castle.
One night, driven by insomnia and fury, she descended into the cellars with only a lantern and a wine-stained mind. She passed rusted suits of armor, broken crates, and shelves warped with time. And there it was. Just as the dreams promised.
A silver door. Seamless. Humming with something alive.
She touched it. It opened without resistance.
There was no room, no tunnel—only blackness. And then a voice. Whispering: "Come see."
She stepped through.
The world changed.
The castle loomed in ruin. The sky churned with violet lightning. The air reeked of ash and sorrow. Nailed to the gates were corpses—twelve, maybe more—all wearing her face, eyes hollow.
She staggered forward. The fountain was cracked. Dry. A figure stood beside it.
It looked like Kael. But wrong. His skin glowed like molten obsidian, and his eyes bore into her like knives.
"You left me," he said, though his mouth did not move. "You made me bleed."
"What is this place?" she asked, voice shaking.
"Truth."
She ran. Through halls of fire. Past portraits that shifted and wept. In one, she sat upon a throne of bones. In another, Kael knelt, her sword in his chest. Her own face stared back from every frame—each version of her darker, more monstrous.
In a tower cell, she found herself—chained and emaciated. The other Lira cackled softly.
"Don’t trust the mirror," the chained Lira hissed. "You never escaped it."
And the memories returned. Not all at once. But enough.
The battlefield. Kael, bleeding. Her sword still humming with heat. His hand reaching for hers—never making it. Her lips pressed to his ear, whispering the final lie.
"It was always going to be me."
She woke screaming. Alone.
Kael was gone. The castle was silent.
She searched—throne room, study, chapel. Nothing.
She followed her instinct. Back to the cellar. The silver door stood ajar.
Inside, Kael was waiting. Not the man she married, but the specter that haunted her dreams.
He stood before a massive mirror. In it, a thousand Liras danced across different lives. One wreathed in flames. One kneeling before a headless Kael. One laughing as the kingdom crumbled.
"You shouldn’t be here," he said.
"Why are you showing me this?"
His face rippled. Became something older. Hungrier. The real Kael had died. She saw it now. She had killed him.
The crown still warm on her brow, blood pooling beneath his body.
"This is your reward," he said. "You consumed your savior. Now you must consume yourself."
The mirror shimmered. Her reflection stepped out, identical but somehow more regal. And more terrifying.
"We are the same," the reflection said. "You buried me. But I was always here."
She reached out. Their fingers touched. Black fire erupted.
Pain consumed her. Then clarity.
Kael gasping. Her pouring poison into his wine when he grew suspicious. The forged letters to the court. The night she walked alone into the battlefield, cloaked in shadow, to make it look like victory had cost her everything.
But it had cost her nothing. It had gained her everything.
Power. A crown. A throne. The story rewritten to favor the tragic queen who lost her brave king.
As her reflection merged into her, Lira screamed. Bones twisted. Her spine cracked. Fingers lengthened into claws. Her skin blackened, pulsing with shadow. Eyes turned molten gold. The fire consumed her. Remade her.
She did not become the creature.
She realized she had always been it.
The villagers had called her savior. The historians, a heroine. But the truth was uglier. More complete.
The creature had not been slain on the battlefield.
It had walked off victorious, wearing a queen’s face.
She returned to the throne room. The steps beneath her blackened with each footfall. The stained-glass windows trembled in their frames. A hush fell over the kingdom like the breath before the scream.
The throne welcomed her. The castle bowed.
She sat. She smiled. And the wind carried her whisper far and wide:
They wanted a queen. Now they’ll kneel to the monster."
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