Hello all!

It's been a while, but I have returned again to bring you this treasure. This story was written for a good friend of mine (for several years) Mister House. Because I have known him to be a fan of Edgar Allen Poe, I incorporated a much darker scheme into this one.

Slightly AU; Post-game verse. Enjoy!

All Beauty Sleeps

She stepped away from her tiny ship into the wide courtyard, the moon overhead muffled by the damp, misty clouds. People had gathered to watch her, people she didn't know, people whom she loved ever dearly.

Her long black hair must have been a surprise to them, as they were expecting someone more…fair. They would take some convincing, no doubt, to relinquish their loyalty to White Rock Shooter. But it could be done; these were reasonable people, and simply talking out their differences should do the trick.

She smiled at them as best she knew how, and her blue eyes still contained a girlish shine which turned the crowed in her favor.

"I know I'm not who you expected me to be…" She took a breath. "But there's no cause for fear. I know White Rock Shooter, and I know the torment she put your people through."

The people around stood intently and listened.

"You can rest easy now. White Rock Shooter has been slain." She closed her eyes. "It was long and it was hard, but I made sure she won't harm you anymore. And in the wake of her defeat, I've left, to live among you...I am White Rock Shooter's daughter. My name is-"

"Black Rock Shooter!" A woman called out. "I mean…doesn't she look just like her? Doesn't she?" The people around the woman nodded their approval.

"W-What?"

"White Rock Shooter's mother was the famed Black Rock Shooter." The woman continued. "Your eyes are different; hers were purple, but other than that, you're just like Black Rock Shooter." The woman bowed. "You've been sent by the Gods to be our new queen!"

The rest of the crowd followed in suit, bowing down before their new figurehead. "Black Rock Shooter! Black Rock Shooter!"

…

At midnight, in the month of June,

I stand beneath the mystic moon.

An opiate vapor, dewy, dim,

Exhales from out her golden rim,

And, softly dripping, drop by drop,

Upon the quiet mountain top,

Steals drowsily and musically

Into the universal valley.*

…

The percussion of hostages walked into the dying light, greeted by the whistles and batons of nearby officers herding them into a tighter line. Above their heads stood the guillotine, it's glorious metal glinting in the sun, each tearful face reflected in its shine, as though it could see them with invisible eyes. Each person was brought before the podium, and would be asked by the priest if they had any final confessions. A few did, but many remained silent as the blade came down upon their neck.

All while she watched, her blue eye blazing aflame, her black cloak draped over her shining onyx battle armor.

"By order of Empress Black Rock Shooter II," the crier repeated with every passing crowd "the protesters of the 2039 Town Square display are to be executed for disruption of the peace, violence, and treason against the high government."

Stella watched the prisoners being led to their deaths, one after another. And one after another, their heads rolled, their bodies were carted away still convulsing. A group of peasants had gathered to watch the execution, all solemnly quiet, the heaviness in the air increasing with every death.

Finally, the line of hundreds drew to a close, and Stella looked out among the people. "There's one left"

"Only one, Empress." Her High Guard confirmed, as the soldiers led the final criminal to her spot on the podium.

The old woman looked frail and tired. Her long, dark grey hair was cut unevenly, with one side longer than the other. She was incredibly bony, and her clothes looked ragged, thin and torn. But she carried herself with confidence, her back straight and her bright blue eyes shining under the wrinkles on her face.

As she was led up to the podium on skinny but strong legs, the priest asked her "Do you have any last thoughts for your lord and savior?"

The old woman looked at him. "I do, but I cannot say it to you."

The priest looked taken aback. "What do you-"

"I wish to ask Our Lady Empress a question. Is that permitted?"

Stella looked to her High Guard. "Bring her here, but keep her hands and feet chained together."

The High Guard seemed hesitant, but he complied nonetheless. The lesser guards brought her before the Empress, her hands and feet chained. The two women's eyes met, an unbroken stare marred only by Stella's surprise at how familiar this woman's face seemed.

"What do you have to say to me?" Stella demanded.

The woman was silent.

"You wanted to speak." Stella pressed. "If so, do it now, while you have a chance."

The woman took a few steps forward. "How old are you?"

Stella's brow furrowed. Her High Guard stepped forward, but she stopped him. "…I'm twenty-two."

"Then you are so young." The woman smiled. "I was twenty-two once."

"Is that all you're going to say to me?" Stella demanded.

"Why am I being executed?" She suddenly demanded, the smile gone, her eyes almost ablaze.

"You have committed treason against me." Stella did not back down. "You were among those protesting in the streets on the day of the Town Square display."

"Yes." The woman nodded.

"You incited terror in my citizens." Stella continued. "You sought to turn them against me."

"I did not say anything they weren't already thinking." The woman replied. "You say I incited terror, but the people live in fear. I cannot turn them against you, because they already have."

"…You will be silent." Stella commanded, her eyes wide and her voice hoarse.

"We will not go back to the days of White Rock Shooter, or your namesake grandmother whose armor you wear." Her eyes began to glow. "However much longer we have to scream before you hear, we will, however long it takes for you to see the agony you cause. You cannot run any faster; your cruelty will end."

"SILENCE HER!" Stella drew her sword at the woman and the guards grabbed her arms and dragged her to the podium, shoving her head into the restraints.

"You will see, one day." The woman insisted.

"Do it now." Stella commanded the Executioner.

"You have a daughter, do you not?" The woman smiled with mysterious intent. "I have a daughter too. She's about your age. Her name is- "

As the blade hit the woman's neck, there was a painful crack. It decapitated her instantly, blood exploding from the wound and dripping from the headless corpse as the arms and legs spasmed. The head rolled away, the mouth continuing to move wildly as though it was still speaking, the eyes blinking rapidly, one after the other. The corpse lay gasping like a fish as Stella watched, fixated on the dying glow in those bright sapphire orbs.

A shiver ran up her spine. She couldn't say why.

As the body was carted away, she turned to her High Guard once again. "Clear the square. Make sure the curfew is followed. Anyone outside afterward will be brought here and killed immediately, understood?"

"Yes, My Lady." He bowed, and was quickly replaced by her chauffeur, who led her back to her carriage to take her back to her home.

…

The courtyards were Stella's favorite place; amongst the soldiers where she trained with them and fought with them. Many a battle she and her great army had won; it reminded her of long past happy days.

Every soldier she knew by name. Every lover and child trusted her to keep the men and women safe, and she prevailed. Nearly everyone returned home, so much so they called her the bringer of life.

And then every night she would lay upon her pillow in the castle and cry, because it simply wasn't true. Bringer of life was unfitting when she had let an entire planet die.

They still haunted her dreams: her mother and sister and the Seven Apostles she had killed, but his face too. His face was a constant, always smiling so far away, only to dissipate as she reached for him.

No, she wanted him again. She wanted to see him, touch him, hold him again…

She had brought more peace and prosperity to the kingdom in four months than other rulers had brought in decades, which was why the people celebrated when they learned why the doctors ordered Stella to stay out of combat and stressful situations for the next five months.

The people celebrated. Stella wept.

…

As she stepped inside the castle hall, the warm light hit her and relaxed her, assuring her of its seclusion and safety. She disrobed, hanging her black cloak on the rack by the door and undoing her armor, handing each piece to a waiting servant, favoring instead her casual underclothing. She smiled and stretched, feeling the free air hit the skin on her shoulders, and laughing when she heard a nearby noise.

"Christabel!" She called, almost playfully, and a little face peered around the corner and ran into the room.

Stella squatted and caught the child in her arms, laughing as she scooped her up. "My love."

"Welcome home, Mother." Little Christabel murmured in a quiet voice with a big smile to make up for it.

Stella kissed her cheek as she brought her from the main hall into the drawing room, the candles casting a bright and cheery glow on the walls. She set Christabel down on the couch and sat beside her, but her little daughter quickly climbed into her lap and snuggled against her.

Stella chuckled. "What did you do today, my lovely?"

"I finished my reading." Christabel said quietly but proudly. "And I made green custard in the kitchen and it got everywhere."

Stella giggled as she thought of the mess the maids would have to clean up. "Is that all?"

"I played with my dolls a little." Christabel shrugged. "It was boring."

"Maybe I should get you new dolls?" Stella asked.

Christabel shook her head. "It's okay. What did you do today, Mom-Mother?" Her daughter quickly caught herself before the word "Mommy" escaped her lips.

Stella hesitated, unsure of what to say and not quite sure if the truth was appropriate to tell the seven-year-old child. Meanwhile, Christabel sat in silence, staring with intense blue eyes that burned under ribbons of light brown hair. Stella stroked back a single lock as she contemplated, imagining she was once again touching his hair.

"…I met with some bad people today." She finally replied. "And I scolded them. They had done some very bad things, and I made sure they would never do it again."

"What did they do?"

Stella hesitated once again. "…They doubted me when they should have known better." Stella smiled. "And we both know never to doubt Mother, right?"

Christabel nodded.

"So I made sure they understood…" Stella continued, cuddling her child close "that Mother is always right, and they should be grateful for all I've given them. Isn't that right, my love?"

Christabel nodded again.

"You're a wonderful girl." Stella kissed Christabel's cheek. "Now it's getting late. You need to take your bath and get to bed."

"Will you read to me again?' Christabel said with a shy smile. "The one about the turtle and the bunny?"

"The tortoise and the hare." Stella smiled. "Of course, my lovely."

…

Stella had survived the worst: she'd been torched by dragons, frozen and shot, starved and cut through with blades, and still it was all nothing compared to this.

She was thrashing around and screaming so much, six servants had to hold her to the bed. Tears were a constant, and her screams were audible through the castle's empty walls. The midwife's encouragement did absolutely nothing to calm Stella's shattered nerves.

She decided she couldn't do it. Then and there, she almost gave up. She needed him here, he knew about this stuff. He had known everything.

Honestly, the pain in her heart greatly outweighed the pain of her labor. The cold emptiness pressing down upon her, the fear and despair all gave way to near utter apathy. Her world was dead, this would could die, all the universe could crumble for all she cared.

Nothing mattered anymore.

Until there was a slipping noise and the pain on her lower abdomen lessened significantly. The midwife exclaimed congratulations, and shouts of what a beautiful daughter she'd just delivered, and the child was laid in Stella's arms.

"Oh…"

There was light on the child's soft, pink face. A glowing light that hadn't been there before. It terrified her…

And overjoyed her.

…

"When the bow breaks, the cradle will fall…" Stella pressed her face close to her sleeping daughter's cheek. "And down will come baby, cradle and all~"

The moonlight filtered through the window against the glassy grey of the room. The air was cold and still but a flushed glow radiated from the bedside candle, the dancing flame reflecting on Christabel's hair.

Stella kissed her soft cheek, uttering not a noise. She lingered by her side for a moment longer, whispering "Your mother loves you…and your father would have loved you too."

He would have, had he not died in the ashes of what was Planet Earth.

"But if he has left this world, so be it." She stroked Christabel's hair. "Then I will wear his last name, Shepard, and you will wear it too. Because that's what we are, my lovely." Stella's eyes turned to the glassy blue window. "It's our job to herd the people of this corrupt world, before they're consumed by their own selfishness. I was like them once, when I lost everything." She tightly gripped the bedsheet beside her. "So I came here, to undo what your grandmother did, to help mend all the destruction she caused. The people will live happily under me-"

Stella stopped when she realized Christabel was asleep. "Under us. They'll live happily under us, my love." She gathered her child into her arms one last time and kissed her head, finally standing up and making her way to the door, where a servant stood outside, waiting in the darkness with Stella's black cloak.

"Are they waiting?" Stella asked.

The servant nodded.

"Good." She fastened her cloak and walked briskly down the ever-darkening hallway, the cold light of the moon reflecting on the windowpanes and the glass floors, until Stella reached the top balcony, overlooking the city and her thousands of silent citizens.

A pause hung over the crowed; a lull in time itself as the people below watched their Empress step to the edge of the balcony and survey them, eyes lingering on a few odd faces here and there, when finally, they heard her speak.

"You have seen the deaths today." Stella began. "You know the cause, and you know in the aftermath, there will be fear. There will be sadness, and it is not wrong for us to mourn the deaths of our brothers…and sisters.

"But I am here to assure you, your fear is unwarranted." She continued. "The people who were killed this day were rebels, disobedient and ignorant, giving nothing to our society and in fact stealing the resources of our beloved planet. And just as you would punish a disobedient child, we punished them for their actions as according to the law. No longer will they be a threat to you."

The crowed clapped, but there were no cheers. The solemnness in their faces remained.

"It is under my rule our planet will find order and peace. Free from my mother, known for her selfishness, and my grandmother, known for her insanity, you will find happiness under my guidance." Stella flashed a smile to the crowed. "And I'll never leave you."

The crowed clapped slowly, as though there was lead in their hands, and the guards began to lead them out in groups, back to their homes; the curfew was still in effect.

…

"Do you think we're evil, Rothcol?" she had asked one night. "Do you think humans are evil?"

She asked him this question a lot, but he had yet to answer her. Instead he stayed silent and fiddled with his belt as he pulled his trousers back on.

"Am I evil?"

He looked up in surprise. "No, Miss, of course not." He turned to face her; she was still lying in their cot, her black hair long and dangling freely and nothing but a sheet to cover her. "You're…you're humanity's savior. Look at all you've done for us, already. You're not evil."

She didn't answer him, and in her blue eyes he saw knowledge growing slowly where she was beginning to understand. She sat up, the cloth falling away from her slim body, and stood; pale white skin glistened in the moonlight flooding through the crack in the tent curtain. She approached him slowly, like a ghost, a small smile forming.

"I love you, Rothcol."

"I love you too, Miss."

And the words scared him, because they were as real and uncontrollable as the human mind.

...

Stella followed her servant into the dark hallway of the castle tower, meeting her High Guard at the top of the stairs. "Were there any troublemakers?"

"About a dozen." He replied. "But no one of importance."

Stella nodded. "…Do you remember the old woman?"

"The last prisoner?" He questioned. "Yes. She will be hard to forget."

"…What was her name?"

He looked as though he was searching his memory. "I don't…oh yes." He squinted. "I don't recall her given name, but I believe her last name was…Shepard."

All of a sudden the moon felt very cold on Stella's skin, and she pushed past the High Guard and the servant and tore down the empty hall to Christabel's room, screaming her name as she disappeared into the darkness.

"She said she had a daughter." The High Guard said to the empty air. "There were no records, though, no trace of any such child at all." He turned to the servant, whose blue eyes he noticed caught the moonlight. "Perhaps she was simply being cruel."

Stella's panicked footsteps echoed throughout the castle that dark night.

…

Some sepulcher, remote, alone,

Against whose portal she hath thrown,

In childhood, many an idle stone-

Some tomb from out whose sounding door

She ne'er shall force an echo more,

Thrilling to think, poor child of sin!

It was the dead who groaned within.*

*The Sleeper by Edgar Allen Poe

Poe's poem "The Sleeper" was inspired by another, lesser known poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, called "Christabel." See what I did there?

I hope you all enjoyed! And a special thanks to you, Mister House-sempai!

-The Black Maiden