Dear Lady Cordelia,
I do not know your first name. Your father only wrote about you as "his beloved daughter." Would you honour your betrothed with the favour of calling you by your name?
Tibetha found the letter, neatly folded, in the pocket of Emir's coat that someone had the curtsy to wrap her in. The beautiful dress of mother's choice was charred by Tibetha's magic, much like her hopes and expectations.
Her gut twisted and bile rose up her throat. She could taste the squid rebelling to jump out of her mouth as semi digested liquid. Yet, she held it in. Like everything else.
Beloved daughter.
Your betrothed.
Tibetha's senses were numbed to grief as she held the crisp paper in her hand. The voice in her head urged, "I can blow this prison up, you can run away, breaking all the shackles."
Run...and go where?
Do what?
Did she have a purpose to serve? A mission to accomplish? A reason to exist?
"I don't want to escape anymore..." Tibetha whispered her reply, crushing the paper in her fist, "I shouldn't have survived. I should have died two years ago. I will accept any punishment that comes my way and—"
"I won't let you die." The voice interrupted.
Tibetha could feel her own shadow burning the body it laid under. She jumped up, yet, it followed, inescapable, burning her feet. Tibetha cursed under her breathe, jumping from one foot to another to evade crying in pain.
"It hurts, does it not? Death?"
Outside the prison cell, a terrified guard frowned at the prancing alleged witch and shot up from his wooden stool. "S-sh-she is doing a RITUAL!" He shouted, alerting the fellow guards.
"Hear that?" It asked.
Suddenly, the burn soothed and the cold hard bricked floor provided solace to Tibetha's searing feet.
"They will never sympathise with you."
She turned to look back and found a group of guards standing a foot away from her cell, pointing arrows and spears in her direction. Her clammy hands bunched against the fabric of the coat and her erratic heart hastened her to look away. The scathes on her feet was incomparable to the pointy weapons aimed at her heart. Stabbing without touching.
"Do you think you can kill me with your measly weapons? Do not fool yourselves and run along while I'm still being generous," Tibetha announced.
In moments like these, she wondered why her voice never wavered or reflected the tears in her eyes?
Maybe that was why people would never understand.
"It's because this is who you truly are," It answered.
'I am not.' Tibetha replied in her head, though, as she surrendered her will to the prison walls again, a big part of her believed otherwise.
The thought cemented to fact when her mouth uttered, "He never loved me. I owe him no emotion," while her very own father was held at swordpoint.
She knew she loved him. Once. It was scarce but still present.
The moments of spending time with him, when she was five and he would spar with her in the Cordelia Gardens. A wooden sword, a sunny day, his words of appreciation towards her. The happiness in her heart. But, the very next day, when she wanted to do better, she got sick. He blamed her for being weak and exhausting herself. The day after, he sparred with her cousins. They were laughing while she stared down through the window. He patted the person's head like he had patted hers. The person took Tibetha's sword home.
The sword that Tibetha cherished was so easily given away because someone else asked for it.
Maybe she was truly selfish, vile, possessive and petty.
That is why she confronted the person after getting better. She wanted her sword back. She wanted her memories back. Yet, it only brought her scoldings from her family.
Could kindness be enforced on people like her? Degenerates who hold grudges against their own family? The very people who raised, clothed, educated and fed her?
Just how internally vile was she?
"It is the norm for a child to be selfish and demand love and attention from their parents. You did nothing wrong." The voice countered.
Yet, while the Knight edged the sword deeper in her father's throat, Tibetha soulessly stared how far in would he dare to go. The Cordelia family was one of the Founding Families and offences like these wouldn't be forgotten easily.
Yet, suddenly, Emir's words echoed in her head. "Beloved daughter," He had written. Her father was always up for pretences, she knew, but, a part of her did not want Emir's parting words to be mere lies.
It happened quick, like most things in life. One moment, the Knight was following the rules of natural hierarchy and the next his bones were being crushed, six feet in the air, curled up and elevated by a shadwy tentacle emerging from the castle floor.
A flurry of gasps, whispers and terrified squeals escaped the nobels. All Knights got into position, aiming their weapons at the girl.
"If all the women you kill for witch trials were truly witches, you would all be dead." Tibetha spat while her father's face slapped the ground, breathing new life.
"Are you questioning my decision?" The Emperor scoffed, raising a brow.
"She is a witch! Truly a harbinger of death! The Cordelia family does not associate with her!" Mr. Cordelia shouted, with a bloody hand pressed over his neck.
"What do you want from me?" Tibetha asked, dejectedly staring at the Emperor. Though her father's words were yet again wrenching her gut, evoking the indecent act of vomiting in public eye.
"Why respect him? I say, kill him now and rule the kingdom," The voice in her head urged.
"I want you to pledge your loyalty to the throne," The Emperor proposed. There was a glint in her dark eyes as he stared down at Tibetha.
"I will do no such thing. How about you just kill me instead?" Tibetha proposed reasonably.
"I will do no such thing," The Emperor replied.
Tibetha pursed her lips and pushed her mouth in a line. Clearly, they wouldn't get to a—
"I will have the Cordelia Household exiled from the Empire," The Emperor added.
Tibetha scoffed, "I will have you exiled from your darn throne." She had no idea where this blind audacity came from. Surely, her mouth was acting on its own freewill because her eyes were blown wide and limbs profusely sweating at the mere claim.
It was safe to assume that Alzack signalled his men to charge at the prisoner. It was also obvious that mere men with guns and swords stood no ground against sorcery. As everyone's shadows began burning their feet, they dropped their weapons and scurried while chanting the God's name.
Alzack though, the Nobel warrior, was not intending to waste a holiday by just dying. No. While his feet burned, he managed to load his gun and fire at the witch. The bullet disappeared into ash before reaching her but Tibetha commended his efforts.
"A masterful effort," She whispered, staring in his general direction.
It was then, amidst all chaos, that the Emperor spoke up, still seemingly bored. "You do not intend to kill me," He stated, "Or anyone."
"Yet," Tibetha replied, for no reason but sheer cheek.
"You do not have a purpose." The Emperor pointed out.
The words were enough for all of Tibetha's magic to be rendered powerless. The flying Knight dropped with a quick thump. The clamoring Knights sighed to a standstill as their shadows stopped burning them and Alzack took it as a moment to announce, "Fire your guns!" While reloading his own.
There was a subtle smirk that graced the Emperor's lips while Tibetha's mind isolated itself into a spiral. It was true that she needed a purpose to live. But at what stake? And for whom? Him?
Tibetha stared at the supposedly noblest soul on the land. His eyes held no kindness, unlike Emir's. They were dark, a hollow that would consume if one stared long enough. They were the eyes of a killer who knew no remorse. If he were to give her a purpose, Tibetha would internally gnaw herself.
Gunshots fired.
She heard them loud and clear. Along with the chants of, "Kill the witch! End the curse! Stop this doom!"
Everyone in the room and on the land had sworn their loyalty to this man. The indomitable ruler. The Emperor who united nations through war.
A war that cost Emir his family, his childhood and his youth.
How was everyone so undoubtedly in love with that man? Along with her father. He used to sing praises of the Emperor's kindness. His benevolence and his grandeur.
Was she not able to see it because she was a villain?
A few bullets missed her face by a hair's breadth. One pierced her left arm and another impaled her waist. Dying would be a win against him.