A/N: hello again! thank you x1000 to everyone who has followed/favourited/reviewed so far. you're in for a wild ride.
i've decided that this coming friday (march 27th) will be the deadline for all character submissions. i'll need at least half the form completed by then, if not (preferably) the whole thing. and don't worry about reserving a spot, there's no oc limit! i'm down for whatever y'all come up with.

also: these chapters are short for a reason: i feel like there's a lot going on with this story, so by making them shorter it's easier to digest. the family tree/character guideline is up on my profile! (fun fact: quite literally everyone is dead, lmao)

feel free to pm me with any questions, and hope you enjoy :)

AT NIGHT, WHEN she should be resting, she can't close her eyes. She's surrounded by a hefty white duvet that, under any other circumstance, would give her comfort and aid her into a gentle rest, but instead she feels like she's suffocating. The sweat on her skin causes the sheets to stick to her, and every morning she finds herself tangled and, occasionally, unable to breathe.

She startled awake, once, around three in the morning. It may have been due to some ominous sound (the walls had a tendency to creak in quieter moments), but she felt her heart leap out of her chest when she caught sight of a figure slumped in a chair across the room. She cried out, and immediately the figure was alerted, jumping out of their chair.

It was a maid, simply designated to stay in her room in case she needed something in the middle of the night. All she had done was cause the queen more worry than anything, and suddenly she was sobbing, the duvet and the weight of the world crushing her chest.

"Oh, your Majesty," the maid fretted, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." She pet her sovereign's hair, pulling back the strands that had stuck to her with sweat.

The Queen gasped for breath, and twenty seconds in she realized she was having a panic attack. Her body rocked with each wave of cries, and the memory of cloudy grey eyes and lifeless bodies only sent her spiraling more. Her maid did little to help her, so when she finally could form a sentence she harshly bit out, "Leave."

The maid was certainly hesitant—it was obvious in her eyes—but she abided her, curtsying and leaving in a hurry.

Eventually, the sobbing subsided, and she buried herself deeper under the covers. She flipped from her back to her side. Her pillow felt soaked under her cheek. She stared at the wall across from her bed for what felt like eons, until suddenly she was startling awake again, the stupid maid slumped in that chair.

"I told you to leave," she snapped, her voice raspy with sleep. She pushed herself up, though it took great strength with the duvet pressing down on her. The maid didn't respond, her back away from her, and she was about to start yelling when she had a startling realization.

She could see through her.

This was not her maid.

The figure turned around slowly, until the queen had a clear view of her startling face: her eyes were wide and cloudy, the irises that were once brown now a pale shade of grey. Her skin was rotting away, decaying and green at the neck for reasons her Majesty did not know. Most alarmingly, however, was her mouth: the jaw was stretched open, locked into an eternal scream. The queen knew it was because her mouth had been open for so long, with that hose of carbon dioxide shoved down her throat.

Her cousin made no sounds when she was fully facing her.

"I'm sorry," the queen said, everything rushing out in a blubbery mess. "I'm so sorry."

"Oo," Maya said, attempting to say you. "Oo err ee."

You hurt me.

"I'm sorry," she repeated, scrambling out of bed. She pushed away the covers as best she could. "You were always my favourite cousin, you know that; I didn't want—"

"OH," the ghost cried, "OH AY AH." Don't say that.

"Please," she begged, falling out of the bed and onto her knees, scrambling forward, as if in prayer. "You were my sister. You, and Alaya. Jordan was my terrible, annoying older brother but I loved him too, and their kids! I—"

The ghost of Maya lunged forward, her grotesque features shoved into the queen's face. She could feel the heat of the fire on her skin, and smell that pungent gas. She moved as far back as she could, until her back hit the base of her bed and there was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Not like that night—no, now she was vulnerable and in the open.

Maya leaned forward, her lifeless, wide eyes directly in front of the queen. "Eeillah."

Priscilla.

The name alone brought too many harsh memories, another body that had been added to the mass funeral of the royal family. She had been the Queen's childhood friend, her closest alliance. And she had tried to warn her aunt, tried so hard to tell them of the horrors that would come upon them, but they thought she was being ridiculous.

The day after the family's bodies had been found, hers was seen floating in the palace pond. She couldn't live with the guilt.

The queen was feeling tempted to recreate that fate. Except, her guilt was of a different kind.

"Please, Maya," she begged to the merciless figure. "Please understand."

But the ghost was gone.

"—My grandfather and grandmother were lovely, kind souls. They were selfless, and loved all their grandchildren—and great-grandchildren—with all that they had. When my grandfather stepped down from the throne, nearly thirty years ago, he did so knowing my Aunt Eden—the late Queen—would be a just ruler.

"And she certainly was; Eden Schreave was beloved by all. To be ascending in these unfortunate circumstances, and under her shadow, is no easy feat. But, as your Queen, I promise all of Illéa that I will do my best to bring everyone the peace and equality that's deserved."

"Cut!"

Buzzers echoed through the studio space, and she winced. The report host—Robin Fadaye—bounded up the steps onto the stage.

"That was lovely, your Majesty," he said, arms open. "However, could we try that again, perhaps without the 'under the shadow' part. It leaves a… ill taste, in the mouth, if you understand me."

"Of course." She nodded.

He smiled. "Perfect." He spun back towards the camera and crew, and called out, "Resume in ten!"

She followed him down the steps but turned the other direction, towards the makeup and hair department. However, she immediately halted her walk when she saw the man that had just entered the room, getting all the attention and sympathy he desired.

She marched up to him, her face flaming, her mind beyond furious. "What are you doing here."

The prince—her cousin-in-law—turned to her, equal parts shocked and pleased. "I live here."

"Not anymore," she snarled. "This is not your home. Not after what you did."

Jeremy pouted. "No sympathy for a man who just lost his wife? His children?"

"It was your hand," the queen snarled. "You played it, and this is the outcome. Get out."

He dropped the playful attitude. "I'm the Prince."

"I'm the Queen."

"You're an imposter," he seethed. "You're nothing."

"I could tell them all what you did," she snapped. "How you locked the doors and left them: Alaya, Maya, Jordan, the kids. Her parents. Mine." Her voice broke.

"There's blood on your hands too, your Majesty," he warned. "Don't forget Priscilla. I hear her body was partially eaten by the time they found her."

The urge to slap him was overwhelming, but she kept herself in check. More destruction would follow if she let her emotions overtake her now. She took in a breath, and then another, until she felt her body cool down and her voice steady out. "You disgust me," she said coolly. "You and your lies. Alaya deserved better. Your daughters deserved better."

She didn't wait for his response, this time. She turned around in her black gown, walking away and leaving him gaping behind her.

(Little did she know, there was a fire in his eyes brighter than what had destroyed her family.)

Maya's ghost didn't return at night. Neither did anyone else in her family. She slept with her back towards the chair. If they watched her in the dark, she didn't want to know.