"You're both and neither… What did they do to you" Those were the first words that came to mind as she opened her foggy eyes. As if remembering something, she ran to the mirror on the corner of the room but still saw the same pale delicate face.
The majestic doors opened revelling two maids. A delicate yet shining gown in their hands and other accessories that she paid no hind to,
"Tell me, what happened?" taking long strides towards the servant near here, who lowered her head shortly then altered,
"Your majesty," Faintly taking a step back, in respect.
"Uh, what do you mean, where am I? What is all this?" Her voice cracked with panic, but it was the way they moved back as if her touch burned that made her anger boil.
They bowed low, eyes averted, hands trembling.
They were her ladies-in-waiting. At least, they were supposed to be.
But now… they looked at her like a stranger. Like a ghost.
"Talk now!!" she yelled, voice shaking the walls.
A dark shadow burst from her skin—wild, uncontrolled.
The air cracked. Dishes shattered. Curtains snapped off their rails.
The butler to her right was lifted off his feet and hurled across the room like a ragdoll, landing with a heavy thud.
Silence followed. The servants stared, wide-eyed, frozen between fear and reverence.
She didn't know where the shadow came from.
But it knew her. And it was awake now.
The butler in black stood, poised despite the tremble in his limbs. He swallowed thickly, tasting blood.
Two of his teeth lay on the polished marble like fallen pearls.
His body screamed in pain, but he dared not flinch.
To speak out… would be as good as losing his head.
The Queen stared at what she had done at the shattered room, the bleeding man and her hands began to tremble.
She wanted to apologize. Truly, she did.
But the words wouldn't come.
Not because she didn't mean them, but because something gripped her throat tight, unseen, commanding.
"I…" her voice cracked.A pause. Then, colder, distant "Get me ready for what's next!" She didn't mean to sound so cruel. But whatever held her… was growing stronger.
As if someone had hit fast-forward, the servants swarmed bathing her, drying her, brushing her hair smooth.
They brought out a golden gown, shimmering like sunlight.
She stared at it. Her stomach turned. "NO!!" she said quietly, firmly.The room froze. "Bring me the black and purple one," Whispers stirred. Eyes widened. But they obeyed.
Moments later, the fabric she craved draped over her skin rich, deep, regal. It felt like Armor.
The universe wanted to toy with her? Fine.
In her dreams, the truth had begun to seep in.
She saw flashes memories not her own. Pain and Betrayal. A throne stolen in silence.
And so, she let fate run its course.
Why fight it, when the crown already rested on her head?
Ruling even like this felt strangely… right.
In the dream, she stood in endless darkness. No floor beneath her feet, no sky above. Just void.
And whispers, Endless, circling, teasing whispers.
Some mourned. Some laughed.
Most… left her more confused than before.
Among the tangled whispers, one voice rose clearer than the rest soft, feminine, and laced with sorrow.
"He never meant to betray you… not at first." Freya turned, trying to find the source, but the void gave her nothing. All this played in her mind as she walked out of her chambers.
An image of a man with green eyes, and now silver like eyes kneeling at the large rusting gates. A crown in one hand, a dagger in the other. Tears of guilt and defeat on his face.
All he ever wanted was to be the greatest ruler Eudoria had ever known just like his father before him. A king of power, wisdom, and honour. But instead… he brought ruin.
He made a deal he couldn't escape.
And in the end, he sold his daughter's soul to keep his crumbling crown. Now the castle stood broken its walls cracked with secrets and shame.
Once, Eudoria was feared, Now, the other kingdoms laughed.
Mocked its fall. Whispered of a cursed line… a fallen king… a vanishing queen.
In the vast throne room, Freya entered with her head held high, each step echoing like a warning. Her pale figure stirred whispers—shock, pity, awe. But her face, cold and unreadable, silenced them all.
She was no longer the delicate girl draped in her father's shadow. Every official bowed low, eyes fixed to the floor.
None dared meet her gaze.
Some were conflicted and startled by her return, unnerved by her presence. Others had hoped she'd never wake… That her death would open the way for their ambitions.
But now, that hope was a foolish dream, dream long buried beneath her quiet, and so far-fetched.
"Say what you must," Freya murmured, her gaze sweeping over them like winter wind.
"But know this… the crown no longer tolerates empty words."