I am serene as I gaze out over the entirety of my army, more than a match for any of the Red but not enough to slay the Jabberwocky.
She isn't coming.
My fingers twitch and flutter so I grab the reins, soothe Baymont with my other hand. I can't be seen to appear hesitant or anxious, not when they are watching me. "A queen must always inspire confidence in those who follow her," I hear my mother say.
Our mother.
The voice is clear inside my head though just as our mother's it cannot be real. At least, I do not think it's real. Is it? I frown and sensing my uncertainty, Baymont nuzzles his nose into my hand. He is as faithful as my dear Tarrant; has been right by my side throughout it all, even before that dreadful day.
I will destroy him.
The whispers are insidious.
He snorts a little, the brown of his eye connects with mine; I glimpse that unlike those around me, he truly understands what our fate will be: my own… consequently his. He whinnies and I hear forgiveness, it shatters me like nothing ever will. Yet curiously it infuses me with sheer determination – I'll fight Iracebeth, I've always bested her, I've strength enough to even defeat…
… myself? Or should that be yourself?
The whispers flow together as a river, the undercurrents of their murky depth a litany of hate.
Once again my fingers are my doubts incarnate and I cannot resist throwing a parting backwards glance. At what will cease to be, at what I leave behind, but mostly I seek a final chance to gaze at that which's never been mine to lose.
She isn't coming.
The taunting is relentless, the river now a turbulent persistent roar.
I swallow as the tiny light inside me flickers, trembles, is swallowed by the power of that devastating force. It dies, extinguished by my own hand, and I glance down as I mourn its passing – the remnant of my once profound hope. Swallowing, steeling myself for what's to come, I almost miss it – the different intensity, the change in all the anger, the newfound outwardly flowing rage. My eyes fly to the doors as I detect the faintest of sounds; I am sure through my ears, and yet… it resonates the strongest in my heart. It grows – until I know that they can hear it, until it's real, until the sea of white springs hastily apart.
She is magnificent upon that foul beast: her wild wavy strands trailing in her wake, the Vorpal sword in hand, the gleam from the meticulously polished armour that she'll never know I shined, rivalled only by the brilliance of her smile. I know immediately this is how I'll always picture her, how she'll forever remain etched inside my mind.
Her eyes crinkle a little at the corners, even as her mouth quirks, you really weren't certain that I'd come.
I was always certain, my own convey as mutely whilst I move to mount Baymont. Her knowing grin confirms that she's aware that's a lie.
But she says nothing as I settle and arrange my skirts, we both observe the Knight remove the tiny stairs, then we exchange another silent look.
I won't fail you, Mirana. I am certain.
My own eyes smile back, I know.
It may be written in the stars, foretold in The Oraculum, but as I nod for us to journey to our fate, I realise that had I seen the opposite predicted, the confidence that sings within my veins at her mere presence is all the proof I need that she's my champion, regardless of the form.