Chapter 5 : The blood

As I opened my heavy eyes, my body was drenched in cold sweat. I jolted upright and ran through the corridor, to my mother’s room.

The blood that once splattered like paint was gone—like it had never been there. The shattered vases were replaced with beautiful new ones. The curtains that had been torn in desperation now hung peacefully, untouched.

I fell to my knees.

Her grim room, once filled with bottled love and unanswered cries, now bathed in sunlight.

“No... no, that incident... that must’ve been a dream,” I whispered. I gasped for air, but it kept slipping from my lungs.

I forced a tired smile. “Mom, wake up.”

The only answer was the swaying of the curtains at the window—her favorite spot.

She used to sit there in the mornings, watching the lily garden below. She’d smile at those lilies like they were her children, like she was their gardener. She looked at the world like it still had something left to love.

But when the lilies were replaced by roses, she never looked out again. Never smiled.

“Mom,” I called again, my voice cracking. “Wake up.”

My eyes fell on a dark patch of red blood underneath the corner of her bed which everyone missed. I smiled a helpless grin.

I knew. I knew it wasn’t a dream. She died—because I failed. I failed as a son.

Maybe I really was just like him.

She wouldn't return. She wouldn't call my name again. I knew it.

The scent of lilies I tried so hard to forget brushed past my face. Her body was being carried out now, along with the others.

The unloved wives of a brutal king, once screaming for freedom—now silent.

I realized too late: they weren’t crying for love. They were crying for life.

The Emerald Palace. The Ruby Palace. All cloaked in fear.

The king who slaughtered millions now locked himself away like a coward. He died the day she did.

And I?

I couldn't change anything. Not even now.

Nothing.

---

I clenched my jaw. Blood pooled in my mouth, but I stared straight ahead—at the place where my father killed my mother.

“He will understand how it feels to be a pawn.”

I used to beg. I used to cry. I used to believe he could change.

A part of me—a stupid, stubborn child—still wanted his love.

I spat blood onto the floor.

I don’t want peace. I want him to bleed.

Bleed endlessly.

I made the mistake of forgiving him. Believing him.

And promising my mother I wouldn’t hate him.

But she died. And so did that promise.

She told me not to kill him.

But she never said I couldn’t torture him.

...A smirk bloomed across my face, bitter and sharp—painted in sorrow...

"I’d carve my vengeance into his bones. Let him choke on the love he wasted." In a quite whisper I spoke

"Pray he drowns before I’m done."

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