The walls sweated. Every corridor in that damned palace reeked of tension, thick like old blood drying in the cracks of marble. I ran
I could hear it. The screaming. The heavy air. The truth.
The sky darkened and the wind blew, the leaves swayed in a hurry.
Diana was giving birth.
Claude was already there. His voice, hoarse like an animal cornered and mad with the ache of knowing.
He was begging.
“Don’t… please. Diana, listen to me. Don’t do this,” he choked, his hands trembling, useless against her stubborn storm.
“We still have a choice—just don’t let it come into this world. Don’t bring it here. Please Let it end. Let it end here.”
Through the half-open door, I saw him, He was like a child begging his mother to not leave him in the cold world.
The Emperor—a god was brought to his knees.
His hands which are usually so cruel and precise now tremble around Diana’s face. His voice was a broken sound, a sound I’d never heard from him before.
"Diana. Listen to me. You don’t have to do this." He begged again as if trying to ask for a last chance he knew she wouldn't give.
She lay on the birthing bed, her golden blond hair drenched in sweat , her lips pale as winter lilies. But her eyes—her eyes were bright.
"Claude,"she whispered, her fingers brushing his cheek tenderly as if consoling a crying child . "You cannot ask me to kill our child."
His breath hitched, "I can. I am your Emperor. I command it." Tears ran down his eyes that now seemed like it held too many tears and it turned into a blue jewel.
She laughed—soft, melodic, unbearable. "Since when have I ever obeyed you, my love?"
His face shattered.
He retreated from her, gripping his golden locks into furry and hot tears ran his swollen cheeks.
The screams that followed were not of pain, but of war.
Diana, fighting for life
Claude,fighting fate.
The child, fighting for a chance to live
And I? Fighting for love
And then—silence.
A baby’s crying, thin and bright, pierced the air.
Diana’s once ethereal body sagged, her chest rising once, twice—then still.
I poured the potion in her withered lips. My potion couldn't root in her soul—it shattered like glass hitting the surface of the sun.
No. No. No— My voice cracked
I stumbled forward, the potion slipping from my fingers. It shattered on the floor, a galaxy of glass and liquid light, useless.
The magic in Diana’s veins—too much, too vast just like her love—had burned through my cure like paper.
Her head lolled to the side.
Eyes still open. But seeing nothing.
The potion inside rejected her. Her death wasn't a wound—it was law.
She died.
And the potion—my life's work—spilled out from her mouth like wine at a funeral feast. It dripped onto the stone floor, mixing with the blood and afterbirth and Claude’s sobs. A soft hiss. A spark. Then—nothing.
Everything fell silent.
The room stank of iron and roses.
He folded.
His hands pressed into Diana’s still-warm shoulders, his forehead against hers, his breath coming in ragged, silent heaves.
The servants fled. The midwives covered their faces.
Only I remained, a ghost in the doorway.
The room turned grey.
And I felt the threads of my world unravel again, and this time more painful
The walls pressed in. The once-immaculate halls, heavy with memory and magic, now stank of failure. The flowers wilted instantly. The glass cracked without sound. The gold lost its shine. My chest caved in like a rotted structure.
I couldn't breathe.
She was gone. She was really gone this time.Again.
And all I had left… was a screaming child snatched away by a maid and a potion stain on the floor.
The world tilted. The walls breathed. The air thickened with grief.
Diana’s body lay too perfect, her lips parted as if mid-laugh her fingers still curled around nothing, her body as if would stand any time and dance like nothing had happened.
And Claude—
Claude was no longer a man.
He was a storm given flesh , his eyes ink black with madness, his voice and a blade dragged across stone.
"Out." he ordered.
I ran.
Not out of fear—but because my lungs refused air.
The corridors stretched, the tapestries melted, the scent of roses rotted in my nose
I fell to my knees in my chambers, my hands clawing at my chest, as if I could rip out the grief like a tumor. My failure devoured me raw
The potion’s remnants glowed mockingly on the floor.
I failed again. I failed again. I failed again.
And then—the screaming began.
From the Ruby Palace.
From the Emerald palace
From my mother’s chambers.
Because Claude needed someone to burn.
And Helen was always an easy target.
I ran like a poet chased by the world's miseries.
The floor was heavy and my heart thumped.
The time went slow and as I arrived at my mother's door.
Blood, hot blood spewed down the floor.
Claude killed her.
Not just out of rage, out of hatred but of pain and nothingness.
A man who had lost everything was dangerous.
I ran towards my mother's lifeless body. Her eyes still and her face felt like it finally got the answer to her unyielding love. Death.
Claude's eyes seemed dark, cold like a storm. He jewel eyes didn't shimmer.
"How dare you!!" I cried, I screamed and casted a spell.
A spell to kill him.
A black smoke conjured on my hands and Like a stray animal I attacked him relentlessly
He deflected them easily, even after two lives I wasnt able to touch him, Not yet Not with this body.
My childlike hands spoke millions of spells like fire breathing from my broken heart.
I looked at him in a furry, a daze.
I mustered up whatever my body could conjure but as I spoke the last spell, my body broke before me.
I collapsed.
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