Orson's Madness
The king's bedchambers were cold, dreary, and dark, but Orson didn't care. It was necessary for Monica's well being, after all. "Do not expose her to broad daylight," Riev had said. "The enchantments binding her to this world are still fragile, and the sun could easily destroy them. That would be such a pity, wouldn't it?" As much as he despised the heretic, Orson obeyed his dictates. He would not allow Monica to be torn from him so soon after she returned.
And besides, a little shade was a small price to pay for being with his beloved.
She lay next to him on the king's bed, her mouth upturned in the same gentle smile that had always lit his soul afire. A thick, luxurious blanket of raven-black hair surrounded that perfect face, every feature as flawless as it had been before her death. Orson lovingly ran his hands over her pliant body, and his fingers touched skin as soft and tender as it had always been. He shifted on top of her, and their lips met as their naked bodies entwined.
Never had Orson thought he would know such happiness once again. No longer would he spend his nights miserable and alone. No more would he reach for his wife's hand, only to grasp empty air. Monica had come back to him. He had betrayed his king, he had betrayed his nation, but his greatest desire had been granted. He and his wife would never be parted again.
Even as he pressed his body into hers, however, a small, helpless voice shouted desperately at him within the confines of his broken, wretched mind. "This is wrong!" it said. "This thing is not Monica!" Orson shut his eyes and kissed Monica passionately, trying to drown out that miserable voice. What right did it have to intrude upon his happiness? He was with Monica, and that was all that mattered. Despite his efforts, though, the voice continued to scream at him. "You know I'm right! Feel her breath upon your cheeks! Feel her skin under your hands! There's nothing there! No warmth in her breath, no pulse in her wrists!"
"No!" Orson grunted, pushing himself into Monica with even greater fervor, trying, in some way, to quiet that baleful voice. "You're wrong! This is Monica!"
"And what of that smell? That disgusting odor? Even now, it burns through your nostrils. How long can you continue to delude yourself? You know what it is! You knew it every day you visited Monica's grave!"
Orson shut his eyes, trying to deny it. But he knew it was true. He could smell it even under the aroma of the many exotic perfumes and spices he had bought for his wife. Nothing he did could make it go away.
It was the stench of a decaying corpse.
"NO!" he shouted, his voice rising in both rage and sexual ecstasy. "THIS IS MONICA! THIS IS MONICA!" And as he thrust ever harder into Monica's pliant form, his vision blurred and his entire body tingled with delight as he reached orgasm. And as he lost himself within the throes of sexual rapture, that nagging voice inside his head finally fell silent.
Orson slipped quietly out of bed, careful not to wake his sleeping wife. He wished he could open the blinds and let the day in—there was nothing Monica enjoyed more than to be woken up by the chirping of birds in the morning. He remembered what Riev said, however, and left his wife in darkness. It didn't matter anyways—he had something even better to give her. After putting on his clothes, he quietly exited the royal bedchambers and into Castle Renais' dilapidated interior. He realized that the castle was falling apart; indeed, the entire kingdom was crumbling. He didn't care. Of what worth was a kingdom compared to his beloved Monica?
He smiled as he reached his destination—the castle treasury. Entering its gilded doors, Orson passed right by the chests of jewels and expensive artifacts that lay before him. His eyes settled upon a small, golden bottle encrusted with precious gemstones. This was what he wanted. Carefully picking it up and cradling it within his hands, he proceeded back to Monica's chambers. As he came by her bedside, he noticed she was still smiling peacefully. And nothing brought him more joy than seeing her content.
"What is it, Monica? You seem so happy today!"
Monica simply continued smiling at him, and Orson brought out the gift he had taken from the treasury.
"Of COURSE I know what today is!" he grinned. "I could never forget your birthday! I've brought a present for you, dear. I think you'll like it…"
He pressed the top of the small golden bottle, and a fine mist sprayed across Monica's neck. It was perfume—a beautiful perfume renowned as some of the best in all of Magvel, a gift from a previous king or Renais to his queen.
"Darling…" Monica breathed, and Orson's heart leapt within his chest. She liked his gift! She was pleased with his efforts!
His happiness soon gave way to anger, however, as he heard a familiar, grating laugh." It does my heart good to see you looking so happy, Orson." Riev chuckled as he stepped out of the shadows. "See what joy your treachery has brought you? I told you treason would be sweet."
"Get out." Orson hissed. "This place belongs to Monica and I. I will not have our home disturbed by anyone. I did as you asked. I betrayed Renais. My promise has been kept. Leave us in peace!"
Riev simply laughed, an evil smirk twisting across his warped face. "Really, Orson…how long are you going to continue this nonsense? Eirika and Ephraim have joined forces. Even now, their united forces march toward the castle, towards you."
Orson blinked in surprise. "Eirika?"
"You can't imagine they'll forgive you for your treachery, can you?" Riev asked, his cruel grin becoming more pronounced. "I expect the sin of your betrayal has shattered your entire family's name. And after all you did to free your wife from the cold clutches of the grave…it's a shame she'll be sent back there dangling from the hangman's noose."
"NO!" Orson shouted. "That can't happen!
"Heh, heh, heh…oh, but it can, and it will. Unless you do something to stop it. You understand what is required, don't you? You have your orders, Orson. Heh heh heh…" And with that, the dark bishop soundlessly disappeared into the murky darkness of Orson's home.
Orson sighed, tears of despair welling in his eyes. So soon after she returned to him, Monica would be taken away. He wiped his face, and determination replaced gloom in his icy gaze.
"Monica," he said calmly, "I'm sorry. I have something I must do. Please wait for me here."
"Darling…" she murmured disconsolately.
"Oh, Monica…" He smiled. "Don't look so sad. I'll be back soon, and then I'll never leave. I must do this to protect our happiness. You understand, don't you?"
She smiled.
"All right then. I'll be back."
Orson strode out of his chambers, securing his armor and brandishing his sword from its sheath. Whatever threatened his life with Monica, he would destroy it. And then he could return to spending eternity in the embrace of his wife.
The paladin sat impassively upon the throne of Renais as the sounds of battle roared all around him. The battle was not proceeding well for Grado's forces. It didn't really matter, though—not in the long run. For his Monica, Orson would gladly face an entire army. With the fate of his wife hanging in the balance, there was no way he could possibly lose.
He readied his blade as he heard booted footsteps approaching. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw the knight who had come to confront him.
"Seth…" he muttered. "So you've come, have you?"
"Sir Orson." The red-haired knight stood calmly before his former commander, mouth set in a grim line.
Orson smiled. "You're an impressive knight, Seth. You would sacrifice your life for king and country. Not even a moment's pause."
Seth said nothing, and Orson couldn't help but break into a condescending smile. "It's a pitiful, unrewarding life, through and through."
Seth shook his head. "It is my charge. It is my hope." He unsheathed his sword, and stared Orson straight in the eyes. "Sir Orson…prepare yourself."
The young knight moved so fast that Orson could barely see him strike. The traitor brought his blade to bear in front of his chest, just in time to deflect Seth's opening thrust. He quickly rolled off the velvet throne, avoiding a slash that would have removed his head. Orson was not an inexperienced fighter, however, and he swiftly countered by poking his blade at Seth's feet. The knight instinctively jumped back, but now he was off balance.
Orson pressed the advantage, hacking and slashing at his opponent with every ounce of his strength. Visions of Monica hanging in the gallows danced inside his head, spurring him to fight with even greater vigor. Seth worked his hardest to parry Orson's attacks, but the older knight would not allow him to regain his footing. He soon stumbled and fell, and Orson scored a grievous wound in Seth's side. As the knight lay prone before him, Orson raised his blade above his head, ready to secure his victory—and his prolonged happiness with Monica.
Seth would not die so easily, however. Grimacing in pain, he brought both knees up to his chest and kicked with all his might. Orson was caught completely off guard, and went flying back to crash against a wall. He shook his head to clear the stars from his eyes, but was interrupted by a sudden, burning pain in his chest.
He looked down. The long, shining blade of a silver sword protruded from his body. Somehow, the wounded Seth had managed to hurl his weapon straight at Orson, and the knight's aim was true. "I'm sorry…" Orson thought to himself, as he slumped to the floor. All he could think about was the horrible second death that awaited his beloved. And as his life quickly seeped away, he found the strength to whisper one name for the last time.
"Monica…"
As he watched Orson die, Seth could not help but feel a slight twinge of pity for the wretched man who lay bleeding before him. If only he had realized what was happening sooner! The death of his wife had clearly driven Orson insane, and he could not be completely blamed for his treason. What was done was done, though, and Seth still had a duty to perform. Groaning with pain, he struggled to his feet and wrenched his weapon from Orson's chest. Although the enemy no longer seemed to be putting up any resistance, he still had to make sure there were no soldiers lying in wait to ambush Ephraim and Eirika. As he investigated the area, however, a bizarre, noxious odor struck his nostrils. Suspicious, Seth ignored the pain in his side and held his sword in front of him.
As he followed the stench, he eventually came to the former bedchambers of the King of Renais. The smell was unbearably strong, and Seth's eyes watered so much he almost couldn't see. Gripping his blade tightly, he burst through the doors, ready to face whatever horror lay within.
Nothing in his knightly training could have prepared him for what he saw. And as he gazed at the abomination that lay sprawled across the King's bed, he could not stifle his scream.
The battle had been won, and Eirika and Ephraim cautiously ventured through the derelict ruins of their once grand home. They were soon accosted by Seth, running as fast as he could to meet them.
"Prince Ephraim, Princess Eirika," Seth gasped, "The castle has been secured. And…"
"What is it?" Ephraim asked, worriedly looking over the knight's pale, drawn face. Seth's battle wounds could not explain the disgust reflected in his eyes. Seth had apparently seen something truly horrible.
"This way…" Seth motioned for the twins to follow him. "This is the room Orson was holed up in…"
As they entered the king's bedchambers, both Eirika and Ephraim were assaulted by that same noxious odor. "Ugh!" Eirika gasped, bile rising in her throat. "It…It smells like a graveyard in here!"
As they neared the king's bed and looked upon the source of that horrid stench, they realized exactly why.
The creature on the bed stared dumbly at the twins and their knight. "Darling…" it muttered, mouth twisted in a mindless smile.
"You…you're Orson's…" Ephraim couldn't finish. It was obvious what this creature was.
It was created in the image of Orson's deceased wife, but it was no living thing itself. The smell of rotting flesh hung thickly around it, and its skin was icy cold to the touch. Its naked body lay entwined within the opulent bedsheets of Renais' royalty, and its pale, white legs were spread wide apart in a grotesque parody of sexual longing. Its glassy, lifeless eyes bulged abhorrently from their sockets, and within them could be seen a tiny red spark dancing back and forth, an indication of the dark magic used to animate this abomination.
"Darling…Darling…Darling…" it repeated monotonously, dead lips moving as they were programmed by whatever twisted degenerate raised them from the grave.
"This is horrible…" Ephraim muttered. "This same magic was used to control emperor Vigarde. She's already dead, and her corpse was used to…"
"Why?" Eirika murmured, averting her eyes in disgust. "Who could…"
Ephraim gently took hold of her shoulders. "You needn't look any longer, Eirika. Let's go outside."
"You can't say this thing is truly alive anymore." Seth grimaced. "I'll…"
"No, Seth." Ephraim shook his head. "You're wounded. Get some rest. I'll dispose of this…thing."
As he led his sister away from the creature's malignant presence, he turned his head back towards it one last time, pondering how Orson could have been so devoted to such a vile construct.
"The two of them spent every day inside here, did they?" Ephraim muttered to himself. "Orson was mad. But I think he was happy…"
Later that night, as he tossed the Monica-thing onto a pile of kindling and set it ablaze, Ephraim thought he smelled something beautifully fragrant—a perfume that reminded him of his mother. "Nonsense," he said to himself, dismissing the notion as a silly fantasy. But as the smell disappeared and the creature burned away into ashes, the prince of Renais again wondered how truly happy Orson was with his bride.