The hands that held my wrists tightened and I heard, more than felt, something pop and crack. I bit down on my lip to keep myself from crying out. A copper tang washed over my tongue, a taste as familiar as it was revolting.
This was the third time I bit myself hard enough to bleed this evening, in a pitiful attempt to keep my suffering inside. They didn’t deserve to hear me crying, didn’t deserve to know that I was two steps away from breaking down.
They crossed that line long ago.
“Faster.”
The word was scarcely more than a growl and the damned hands tightened. Something ground painfully against each other in wrist and bile rose up in my throat at the both the noise and the pain that laced up my arm. I struggled to keep my steps steady. It was hard enough to walk after spending a year in jail, trapped in a ten foot box of a room. I was told it was what I deserved. The memory helped me to force down the bile, to focus on my anger instead of the pain.
I wondered if the Knight that held me liked to see me in pain. If he liked the bruises that littered my arms, dotting my skin like rotting flowers. If he liked to hear my bones rub together in an unnatural way. My nose throbbed dully, a pain that reminded me of the first time his fist slammed into my face which sent a shock of blood down my front. He might enjoy it. He was always the violent type, this Knight, though I admit I wasn’t much better.
But at least when I hurt others, I made no excuses.
The Knight, though?
Everything he had done to me was for his precious Estelle Malvoler. She had said that I had hurt her, had isolated her, and had attempted to kill her. Of course, she being Estelle and all, she would never lie, so the Knight was justified in using excessive violence.
Our hobbled march led us to a large audience chamber, packed to the brim with spectators to see how this historical trial would go. Trial, huh? I kept my huff of dark laughter inside. This wasn’t a trial. This was just a play in which the actors would play their role to the best of their abilities.
Take the spectators, for example. The nobility of the realm had gathered to see just how this play would end. They wore lavish masks adorned with jewels, feathers, lace made of gold, dripping with extravagance as if hiding their faces somehow separated them from the act to come. It wouldn’t, for they were the faithful yet faceless audience that wouldn’t be able to tear their eyes from the finale.
The Knight forced himself back into the narrative, shoving me to the ground. My knees hit it hard and my eyes rolled back as I squeezed them shut. By god, that hurt. The pain radiated from my knees but it couldn’t compare to the aching throbbing of what remained of my fingers, jostled in the shove to the ground. They were most likely infected, though I tried not to look at them directly if I could help it. Everyday I awoke with them still attached I was surprised, for the sickly yellows, greens, and purples had spread up through my wrists, darkening my skin to a point I could not see my veins anymore.
My head was slammed into the floor, sending stars through my vision. A titter went through our captive audience as blood rolled out of my nose and my cheek started to swell. I wondered if this was how they had imagined it, if this was something they had always yearned for. Was me being their villainess in this fairytale something they expected or just a pleasant surprise?
Someone I used to know like I knew myself cleared his throat. The Stranger stepped into center stage but I kept my eyes closed, blocking out his huff of annoyance at my continued silence. They hadn’t gotten me to speak Vasterian for months, and this was not when I would break my silence. They wanted me to play the role of the villain, but I would never give in so easily.
Footsteps brought the Stranger closer and stopped in front of me.
There was a rustling of clothes as he moved, and then fingers looped through the rat’s nest that was my hair and yanked. My head jerked at an angle that was uncomfortable but was quickly moving into painful since the Knight so kindly kept my chest pressed against the floor.
Reflexively, my eyes opened, though I kept my gaze on his chin. The Stranger responded by pulling my head back further, making my struggle to breathe for a moment, choking on what little saliva I could produce.
Coughing and desperate to breathe, I looked at the Stranger. Cold brown eyes burned into mine. His mouth, perfect and princely and full of lies, twisted into an ugly shape at my rebellion and subsequent “giving up.” I thought that ugly shape, full of arrogance and scorn, suited him better than any smile he had ever sent my way, better than any secret smirk or burst of laughter shared between us. If God would be kind, they would freeze the Stranger’s face like this so that everyone would see him for what he truly was.
“You’re disgusting,” he said, the words ringing through the chamber, a dark tune playing through his melodic voice as it dripped with hypocrisy. Me? Disgusting? As if I was the one who spent years lying to each other, tricking him into thinking that we were best friends? Me?
Our audience went silent, knowing the main event was about to start.
“You became quite bold and arrogant,” the hypocritical Stranger said, a sneer curling his lip, “to attempt to murder Estelle in broad daylight. I wonder where you gained the gall.”
I thought of the only time I ever had the gall to kill another human being. I wondered if he had forgotten it, forgotten the price I paid for him. Did he understand what it took to even consider murder as an option?
Of course he didn’t. Why would a prince ever bloody his own hands when a perfectly good tool was around to do so?
I had no reaction to his words, staring at him but not really seeing him anymore. An image of a friend flickered, then overlapped with this Stranger and it hurt. A hand reaching out to help me up, mouth quirked up in a way that was almost mocking but held mostly good humor. Whispered conversations behind a willow, hiding laughter behind our hands, the world holding only us. I blinked it away because if it lingered, I would break right then and there.
The Stranger almost snarled at my nonreaction but caught himself. It wouldn’t do for the prince in this fairytale to show such an undignified expression. He had to be perfect like always, as if that was the only thing that people cared about.
He let my head drop down but I twisted fast enough for my other cheek to hit the ground instead. Tears burned under my eyelids, hot and sticky and I hated it. I wished I could just turn everything off. I was so tired. Why couldn’t this just be over cleanly instead of drawing out this farce of a trial? Cue the epilogue please, cue the curtain, let me take my final bow to a world that clearly wanted to wash its hands of me.
I wondered what the Knight’s face looked like, as he tightened his grip. Would it mirror the Stranger’s in its hatred and disgust?
Or, perhaps…
A calm deep voice colder than winter cut through the room, announcing the next actor’s arrival. It drew everyone’s attention, even mine, and then we were all staring at the Doll. His appearance was impeccable as always, not a hair out place, not an emotion on his face.
“Jacqueline McGowan,” he began, saying my name like one would talk about rotting fish, light hitting his glasses at just the right angle to hide the hatred in his eyes. “You have been found guilty of repeated harassment that increased in severity, leading to the attempted murder of Estelle Malvoler.”
His face was impassive as his words started the final chapter. Emotions was never this Doll’s forte, no matter how many hours I had spent studying them with him, had tried to help him.
But I’ve seen it now, his face twisted with affection and adoration. It was simply never directed my way, even after all this time. I hadn’t wanted much. He didn’t need to love me nor do any grand gestures. I had just wanted the Doll to smile at me occasionally and call me his friend.
There was movement to my left and the Knight deemed me worthy enough to be allowed off the floor. I glanced towards the movement before I could stop myself and think about just who was missing from this line up.
There he was.
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The Traitor.
My brother.
“Jacqueline,” said the voice that once loved me, “you will now answer for your crimes.”
Crimes, they say. Crimes, they declare, as if I was guilty. As if they weren’t the ones who were undoubtedly bending the law to their whims in order to arrange this horrible play. Crimes, they claim, as if what they did to me was nothing compared to it.
I let my gaze fall to the floor. Not even the Traitor could get me to accept this blasted role.
Silence settled over the room like fog, twisting and filling up the space between the world and I, pulsing with anticipation of the next scene.
It was my time now to speak, to curse my face, to defend myself. The Knight once again squeezed my shattered wrists, urging me to speak. He continued with his kind ministrations and jerked me roughly. There was a distinct pop coming from my shoulder, then pain. I trembled but kept the treacherous tears at bay, squeezing my eyes closed. I had trained for so long to never let any weakness show, I had no idea why they thought I would let it happen now.
“Look at me.”
No thank you, Stranger. Not in the mood.
“Look at me!”
The volume of voice, coupled with another jolt of pain from being handled roughly had my eyes opening weakly and I met his eyes once more.
He had an accessory now, one called Estelle. She clutched his arm, looking quite pitiful with tear tracks on her face and her artfully disheveled hair. They had really worked hard on casting her as the heroine, hadn’t they? Too bad she wasn’t sporting bruises, it would really add to the façade. It would do her some good, to have her perfect beauty marred and destroyed, torn away from her and leaving her with nothing of worth besides her poisonous heart.
“Your punishment is execution,” the Stranger said, pride shimmering in his eyes, royal might present in his voice. After all this time in jail, I had expected this outcome. “Here’s the verdict, with his majesty’s approval.” He waved the flimsy piece of paper through the air like a hunter did his first kill.
A thought struck me dumb.
That’s what this was after all. This was the Stranger’s first kill.
A breathless laugh escaped me. I couldn’t help it, not when I was his first kill… this was all so deliciously ironic that I nearly gagged.
“Have you gone mad?” the Knight asked, allowing me the pleasure of hearing his voice speak full sentences.
My laughter continued, growing and reaching the high ceiling of the audience chamber. It was a desperate sort of laughter, broken beyond repair at this point, straining a throat that hadn’t been used like this in a long time. Long my laughter lasted, shaking my body painfully but once I had started, I could not stop. It was either laugh or cry, and I knew what I certainly wasn’t doing.
I reckoned that I laughed long enough that it might be noted down in history books, if they ever mentioned me.
I quieted eventually, half glad they didn’t use force to make me stop. But the other half of me knew that this only added to the picture they painted. What was better than a villainess? A mad villainess.
“Do you have any last words or regrets?” A Doll’s voice hit my ears, something threading through it that I hadn’t heard before. I wondered what it was. I couldn’t place it, even after all these years. I didn’t try to puzzle it out. It was a waste of effort.
I thought over his question and an old lesson came to mind. Well, they wanted one last huzzah, so here.
“Regrets, huh?” I rasped. It was strange to speak my native tongue after months of refusing to. The vowels stretched strangely in my mouth and the consonants landed awkwardly. But, I had already broken my silence, so I shall make this ending a masterpiece.
“A man once told me,” I began, glancing at both the Traitor and the Stranger, “that to regret is to want to apologize for the past.” Their eyes stayed cool without recognition. I supposed they both had forgotten about that lesson. For shame, Stranger, not remembering your uncle’s words.
“I have on regret, one apology I’d like to make.”
This caused quite the stir, a low murmur popping up in our audience. Estelle’s eyes widened, glancing between the Stranger and I, her fingers tightening on his clothes. Did she expect vindication, did they all expect me to ransom my dignity in a hopeless attempt for salvation?
I bared my teeth in something that would never be called a smile.
“I regret being naive enough to think I was ever friends with any of you, thinking that you could be trusted,” I spat, relishing in Estelle's slight recoil at the venom dripping from my words. “I apologize to my youth for being wasted on people like you.”
I looked the Traitor in the eyes, so similar to my own yet so very foreign, making sure that he knew who these words were meant for.
“I apologize to myself for caring about any of you, you worthless pieces of trash.”
Before I could enjoy his reaction, my face hit the floor a third time. My vision went black for one dangerous moment and I wondered if the Knight would kill me right here and stain the floor with blood.
“You insolent little—”
“Nothing you’ll say will get through to her once she’s made up her mind,” the Traitor said. It seems he did remember our childhood after all, despite what he’s done to me. “Let’s get the execution over with.”
I closed my eyes and let his condemnation wash over me. What wonderful last words to have for me, dear Traitor. Did I really mean so little to you, that my execution is something to simply ‘get over with? I wished I could see inside his head, just for one moment. I’d like to understand how he could be so callous.
I was roughly dragged to my feet, the Knight uncaring of the pain he casually inflicted with every movement. We left through the door with me at the front of this procession, the prized kill on display. I wondered how they’d kill me. A dull axe perhaps? Take a few swings to truly cut off my head and sever my spine? I knew poison would be too good a death for me, not exciting enough for the audience that craved my blood. Plus, it wasn’t like I was unfamiliar with poison, given just how many people seemed to take offense to my existence.
Even as my mind dreamed up ways I could be killed, a small part of me was still shocked as we approached a pyre, though it was quickly swallowed by the blank numbness that had protected me from my own emotions for so long.
They wanted… I had to take a small breath to wrap my head around this. They wanted to burn me to death.
It seemed my dear Traitor remembered my childhood trauma after all, though I couldn’t discount it being the Doll’s suggestion. For being so emotionless, he really did have a sadistic streak.
There was a sound of something being removed from a sheath and then my matted curls hit the ground. Huh. They truly wanted me to look the part of the wicked woman, didn’t they. Short, choppy hair added to the deranged look they wanted to cultivate and sell to the masses. I allowed myself to be dragged to the pyre quietly, even as every step sent shocks of pain through my body from hundreds of wounds.
They tied tighter than they needed to to the pyre. I would be worried about losing a limb if I weren’t about to die.
They all stepped back and admired their handiwork. I could see each one of their wretched faces now.
They looked proud. There wasn’t any hesitation in their faces, no second thoughts, no remorse that they were about to burn me alive. Estelle ducked away from my direct gaze and that earned me more glares for some goddamned reason. Sure. That made perfect sense. Hate me because she’s a coward and refused to face me head on. What wonderful logic they had.
Why, yes, of course we should be sentencing our friend of fifteen years to death because she told us to fuck off one too many times and didn’t like the girl we were trying to impress. Isn’t that the obvious choice?
I hated them.
They were my only friends.
I wanted them to live out their cursed happily-ever-after.
I never wanted to get in the way of their happiness, I would never dream of it.
I wanted them to live with their guilt for the rest of their fucking pathetic lives.
I had always thought, one day, we all would be old and gray and watching our children grow together.
I wanted them to know that I would never forgive them, no matter how hard they fucking begged the heavens to let me hear their piteous screams.
Would I go to heaven?
The Traitor grasped an unlit torch and I realized that he was the one who would be setting me ablaze. The years between meant nothing. The fact that I was his sister meant nothing. The fact I was his only family left alive meant nothing. My loyalty, my trust, my love, every single thing I had given him and down for him in the past twenty years of my life meant—
Nothing.
To him, I was nothing.
It was appropriate for the villain to get one last punchy monologue before they died. As my end came closer with every spark, I knew my time grew short.
“When I am dead,” I began, projecting my voice over the jeers, and met each of the main actors’ eyes, “I don’t want to hear your regrets. When you find out that you were wrong, don’t expect my forgiveness. I want you to suffer with your guilt, to suffer for each moment I have at your hands.” The spark finally caught, lighting the torch in my brother’s the Traitor’s hand. My words remained steady and my smile cruel. “I don’t care what you do, I’ll never forgive any of you, never in a thousand years. None of you deserve it.”
He brought my death forward and lowered it to the edge of the oil soaked wood. The flames leapt up and danced playfully around my ruined skirts. My skin began to crack and blister on contact.
I looked the only person I’ve ever trusted so wholly, the only person I believed I could rely on for the rest of my life, my first friend, my confidant, the person I would have given the entire world even if it meant I damned everyone else, my big brother the Traitor in the eyes through the glare and pain.
I had one last special message, just for him. One that was worthy of haunting his every waking step and plaguing his mind whenever he saw something that reminded him of me.
“I love you.”
Sometimes the truth hurts more than a lie.
The look in his eyes flickered.
I let my own fall close and, finally, gave into the pain and screamed as the fire consumed me.
---
I’ve always hated the concept of a destined fate because then it meant all my suffering was unavoidable. That nothing I ever did had any meaning because this was decided before I was even born.
It meant that I was always destined to die burning and screaming. That my friendships and happiness never even mattered because it was destined that I would be betrayed.
If there is some mystical being that controlled my fate, I could imagine them laughing at me because they knew what would happen. I also imagined punching them as hard as I can in their face for putting me through that utter bullshit.
I’d much rather everything that happened to me to be products of my own decisions, even if that hurt more.
If I lived again, as fantastical as that would be, I’d live with no regrets. I would care not for whatever destiny had in store for me. If I were to die again, I would die with no apologies to my past self, no regrets or curses screamed out in my last moments.
If I could, I think I’d very much like to die happy.
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