The Woven Queen

When the queen entered, we all fell silent.

Her outfit was one like no other.

She wore a lavender silk dress with small embroidered golden vines woven throughout that complimented her slender figure and stopped at her ankles. Gold bands clung to her wrists and ankles, matching her heels. The color of the gold brought out the hazel eyes that were placed delicately in her face, perfectly symmetrical and full of life. Her nails were painted gold as well, glimmering in the ballroom light as she held a crystal glass cup.

Draped over her shoulders was a cape, the most eye catching detail. It caught our gazes because it was made of hair. Her long ginger hair was woven carefully into a cape that stopped at her knees. It couldn't have been warm, as there were large diamond gaps between the braids. It was a statement we wouldn't forget.

She walked down the marble stairs with grace as the music continued. Other members of the congregation returned to their dancing, but I couldn't keep my eyes off of her. I would never speak to her, of course. A low life like me, a man who had to sneak into a gathering such as this would never be blessed with words to use with such a goddess.

So I watched her. She mingled with her subjects, dancing around and twirling in her beautiful dress. Her hazel eyes reflected the way being near her made me feel, joy and safety. I watched every step she took, taking in every moment I could be in her presence. She never noticed me, never gave me a second glance. I wasn't important here, my existence meant nothing to the upperclass. I almost forgot my reason, forgot why I was at this dreaded party.

She danced with a rhythm only the muses could have gifted her. Her smile was musical and the way she spun amongst her companions was as if she had wings on her feet. She practically floated amongst them, commanding the ocean of people with a kind of joy and silent light no other woman could ever contain.

Then she slipped away to the court yard. She was known for taking long walks during events, she got overwhelmed far too quickly for these long drawn out socials. I followed her silently, although there was no need to. The queen of Galzendorn was deaf. It was a fact she kept well hidden, with her hard earned skill of interpretation. Only those who knew her personally knew about her disability. As I silently fell into her footsteps I wished I didn't know. I wish she'd turn around and call for her guards, sending me away before I could go through with my horrible mission.

Queen Persephone was a just ruler and a wonderful woman, but my people needed a war to survive. The queen did not know of our pain, the corrupt council kept our slavery away from her eyes, directing her attention to the minor issues of her own people. She knew nothing of our torment, yet she would be our sacrifice for freedom.

She stopped by a rose bush, admiring the white petals that reflected the moon. As she traced the petals with her fingers I lifted the dagger in my hands. I took in her appearance one more time, promising myself that her blood would not be spilled in vain. She would lead us the freedom, and hopefully in her afterlife she would look down and feel that her death was worthy.

Then my blade found itself in her back, wedged between her woven cape of hair.

She fell forward, her blood staining the roses red, and although I wanted to honor her I kept my mouth shut. I was not worthy of sharing words with her. I knew this. I pulled my knife out of her back, knowing it must hurt more than I could know. Then I turned and ran, letting my feet take me far, far away from the sight of my crime.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I don't have anymore to write on this and I fear that if I keep writing it will feel drawn out and odd. I guess it's meant to be on the shorter side. In the meantime, here's an excerpt from a book I'm working on.

“Do you know Daniel and Sky Hill?”

It's a question I’ve asked so many times it feels too natural.

The words leave my mouth and the guilt fills my stomach once more as my heart speeds up. My wet clothes stick to my skin as I stand in front of the girl, water running down my face. She stares at me wide-eyed, and it occurs to me that I must look insane. My hair is messy, my face is bruised, and the blood has stained my shirt pink in a way the rain can’t wash away.

“Yes…? I-I’m their daughter. Penelope.”

At this moment, I wish I could tell her everything.

Tell her about her parents, how their love outlasts the stars, how much I miss them, or at least the version of them I know. I wish I could share my memories with her, and tell her about the world she’ll never know. Tell her how they’re my parents too, just a different version.

But I will never tell her.

I can’t make her share my pain, can’t make her feel the way I feel or see what I’ve seen. If I did, she would be pulled into the burning fire that follows my footsteps. She would realise the monster I am, and realise how my presence will make her life fall apart.

Because it always does when I tell them.

Then they die. And it's better to be an orphan, than to be dead.

This book doesn’t have a happy ending. It's not a story of heroes, it's a story of villains and a selfish man who tears down others to get the one thing he wants. A story of greed, of hate, of death.

That man is me.

If you are reading this, you must hide it. A bridge has been opened in your world, and when they find out they will find you and take the book from you. They will erase it from your memory, so that no one knows about the truth.

Fight for this book. Die for this book. It is your one chance to escape your haunting reality and see outside of your universe.

I guess for it to do its job, I need to explain what this is. Where it all started, and why I’m here. Why I’m asking the question once more.

“Do you know Daniel and Sky Hill?”