Author's Note: Hullo there, readers! Snowy here. This story is a revised version of a previous one-shot of mine, which I posted several years ago because I wrote it for a school project. I was in, eh, fifth or sixth grade? Idk. Anyway, I went back and reread it and wasn't impressed by the quality of writing, though I still liked the concept. Now, I've rewritten it for you all. I hope you enjoy it. :D Please let me know what you think.
The cobblestone streets were chillingly quiet. There had been a great tension in Charn for months now, and every creature had seemed to accept that battle was imminent. This dark hour would be one of the last fleeting moments before the blood-curdling screams of battle arose. It was the final hour before war would rear its ugly head and come down mercilessly upon its victims.
The only movement came from a lean hooded figure. They moved confidently, their footsteps rebounding in the cramped alleyways. It was evident they were familiar with every turn in this part of the city as they navigated determinedly - fiercely even - through the deserted streets. Whoever they were, they must have had a purpose that drove them.
At the last moment, the figure halted at the mouth of a narrow cottage which was wedged between the residences adjacent to it. It seemed to sag under the weight of the taller houses, which leaned into it, keen to squash it out of existence, it appeared. The ramshackle structure was composed of old, darkened wood - so cold to the touch that even if you barely brushed it, you would shrink back.
They stretched out their cloaked hand, which was long and pale. The bones underneath the stretched skin jutted out unsettlingly, not unlike a skeleton. Yet despite this, their presence emanated strength.
The figure knocked firmly on the wooden door, thrice. After several moments, it swung back with a harsh creak, and in its place a tall, plastery man stood. His left eye was white and sightless, and his lips pursed into an unpleasant line when his good eye fell on the stranger.
"Remove your hood, unfamiliar." His voice was one that sounded like an ancient hinge that needed oiling. It scraped down the ear canals.
"Let me enter, and I will reveal myself." The figure said, and without waiting for an answer, they shouldered their way in, shutting the door behind them. This time, it didn't creak, instead shutting with a muffled thud, perhaps afraid to make any noise in this stranger's presence.
With hesitation, they reached their thin hands to their hood and slid it off. The man's eyes widened with disbelief.
"Loyal queen, forgive me! I did not recognize you." He lowered his head submissively, his good eye still trained on her. She met his gaze warily, but her dark eyes soon passed over him to a thin doorway in the corner of the room.
"Let me see him, Klaus." She spoke softly, but he could sense the authority in her words.
Klaus nodded slowly, backing towards the doorway, "Of course, Lady Edith." He nodded again and opened the door, which was small and shriveled as if it were rotting slowly from the inside. Without hesitation, the queen ducked inside. Her posture indicated unnatural calm, but her eyes were wide with unshrouded desperation.
A young boy, only the age of nine or ten, lay under a few thin blankets in a small bed. He was very pale, though his hair was dark - a stark contrast to Lady Edith's silvery locks. With every harsh breath he inhaled, he shook with evident pain. Edith hastened to him, kneeling beside his bed and laying a cold hand on his forehead. Fever burned through his skin.
"Klaus, why did you let this happen?" Every syllable of her inquiry was filled with her genuine confusion, her hurt. Klaus, who was standing and watching the scene from the door frame, took a few cautious steps toward her.
"It wasn't my doing, my lady. He's been ill for weeks - it started only as a slight cough. I've been seeking out medical help, but no one can seem to cure him. And the last few days, it got worse…"
Edith had tried to remain composed, but she didn't look at him as she spoke, "Why didn't you tell me?"
Klaus hesitated, drawing back the hand he'd reached out toward her shoulder. He chose every word carefully, seemingly tasting them before releasing them into the air. "I was afraid our…arguments… would be too much for him in his weakened state. We couldn't afford for him to have any added… stress. And… and with the oncoming war…you couldn't be bothered..."
Edith let out a hiss of frustration, shooting him a hot glare. She kept her tone quiet, knowing that at least part of his words were true. "You're a fool, Klaus! There is nothing in any world that I love more than my son. Surely, you of all people know this?" She looked lovingly back at the boy, stroking his dark hair as he slept. "I never would've believed you'd let this happen." Tears were glistening in her eyes now, but she didn't hide them. Instead, she ignored Klaus' presence, and focused on the sick boy, her son.
"You're useless, Klaus. You're a sorry excuse of a shopkeeper, of a father…" She whispered the words coldly, a deep pain in her eyes. "You've failed me again and again, and now you've failed our son. You are nothing to me." She pulled back the sleeves of her cloak, standing to emphasizing the importance of her next words, "No one must know of this. Do you understand?" She met his eyes again, and he paled. He knew what she was going to do.
Edith began a hasty, whispered incantation. It sounded like a foreign song that had no particular rhythm and consisted solely of minor notes. Klaus tried to block out the muddled words. He knew they were magic; a healing charm. He also knew that this magic would be the reason for the bloody battles to begin. But he stayed silent, knowing better than to speak up.
The feeble boy woke in a bout of coughing that racked his whole body. Tenderly, the queen gathered him into her arms, cradling him. Without another look at Klaus, she strode from the room towards the exit.
"You've just sentenced our world to death, Edith." Klaus' voice was hushed and solemn. Edith stopped, but did not turn. "You've sealed your fate. Because of your selfishness, we'll all be destroyed. You and me and that child...this world." His voice was desperate now, mottled with the tears sliding down his face. "This is why I didn't summon you. I knew what you'd do. And now… now I'm going to lose both of you."
Edith answered in a firm voice dripping with anger, "Your emotions have blinded you. Your words have no power over my future or my son's." And with that, she walked out, not bothering to pull her hood over her face. The door swung sadly behind her, leaving Klaus to die alone. He only had his tears now.
Edith's terrible memories were interrupted by the voice of her general,
"We've just secured the palace square, M'lady. You should move now. This may be the lowest point Jadis will reach." His thin grey lips elongated into a smile, and his greasy black hair was not complementary. The queen nodded sullenly. She knew what had to be done. She had to reclaim what was hers.
Closing her tired eyes, she felt the weight of the expensive jewel around her neck. It had been a present from her sister, and Edith was burdened with it now more than ever. She would have removed it by now, but she wanted to be wearing it, needed to be wearing it when she saw the look of defeat in Jadis' eyes. When she destroyed her.
She stood up and faltered slightly. Victory seemed to be near, but Jadis had something very valuable to her - her son. Jadis had had one of her men steal away with him in the night, because she knew the boy was the only thing precious to Edith. Edith clenched her fists, causing her greying skin to look papery white. She would conquer Jadis, this she had decided.
The enormous crimson sun let off little heat as it set. It did little save light the world these days. To Edith, it was like a distant, dying ember. The sky was flecked with its red, tainting the golden clouds so that they resembled the bloodied streets below. Even the three moons that were just rising glowed with its reddish light.
Edith dismounted her stallion, which tossed its head erratically. Her general, who was stationed behind her with a league of soldiers, looked to her and nodded. They were to follow her, as she had ordered. It was essential to her that she lead.
She bundled her skirts up to her knees and ran doggedly up the stairs to the building where she knew Jadis was waiting. Strands of hair stuck to her forehead as sweat trailed down her face, the rest of her hair trailing after her in the receding daylight. Every step she took seemed to whisper of a nearing victory. The tides had turned and it seemed every aspect of the war was now in her favor. All this, and yet her heart still hammered with fright.
She reached the doors and paused, standing motionless, chest heaving, before the grand threshold of the palace. Drawing herself up to her full height, she whispered a word no one could hear, and in response the doors were blown off their hinges inward, skidding across the marble floor as if a great wind had tossed them down.
Red light poured behind her as she entered the grand palace. But as her eyes fell on Jadis, who had obviously been expecting her arrival, she was taken aback to see a snide look on her kin's face. At Jadis' side, restrained by her strong hand, was Edith's son, straining against her grip at her grip with all his might.
"You broke the rules, sister." Jadis said, not giving a glance to the child who was trying to tear himself away from her. "Now it's my turn."
In that moment, Edith's face drained of color. It hadn't occurred to her that Jadis would go this far, yet here she stood, watching as Jadis closed her eyes and uttered the word quietly. The deplorable word. For a strange moment, the world seemed to slow and Edith could see everything tenfold: red light now gleamed blindingly from every surface, flecks of sweat and dirt and blood was magnified on every face, every eye shone brighter, every face seemed darker. Then the two sisters' eyes met and locked, and in her last moment, Edith hated her sister with everything inside of her.
Then Edith, the world, and everything in it started to crumble.