Indecent Proposal
The white queen stands in her cold castle, gaze turned outward upon a field of snow. Down on the icy plane is her perfect counterpart – the white knight, he of valour and virtue and care. Her red lips part as she looks upon him, as her black gaze searches his soul for the flaws and imperfections which will render him useless to her. But even as she looks, she knows there are none: no sins and no lusts, for he is as spotless as she – a suit of armour for a cold bedfellow.
She crosses the icy pale floor to look out upon the burning plains, the burning plains of the south, where an army marches towards her, robed in the devil's own scarlet. Even as she looks, a battle cry is flung towards their leader – he who takes point in fiery crimson, hellish eyes aflame and looking straight at her. The queen shrinks away, her back against the comforting coolness of the stone wall, her heart drumming with – fear? Is it fear, this madness she feels? Or is it something else?
The tower door opens and a lady enters, a young woman whose high collar of white wolf skin perfectly sets off long, honey coloured tresses. In her hand is a letter, addressed in brilliant vermillion to the queen herself. It is taken from her, slit open, and the one word missive is read: surrender. Never, the queen replies, her own pen bleeding the blue blood of royalty onto the page. She returns it to the lady, who rushes from the room and sends the reply with a swift rider across the plains.
The queen watches from the window as the general receives it; unfolds it; replies. Her throat is dry and her palms are damp and she cannot seem to stop pacing. As the rider returns, she twists her long pale fingers together, blinking with agitation as once again the golden haired lady enters her tower, handing her the crumpled note. The queen opens it eagerly, and is surprised when a ruby ring drops into her palm. The stone is heart shaped, glittering with fire and wonder. She smiles.
The young woman in the doorway gasps as her monarch slides the ring onto the correct finger, her cheeks flushing with the pleasure of it – not yet the red of ripe cherries, but the soft blush of rose madder. As the queen crosses the room to her writing desk, the colour in her face deepens, and as she sits to write her answer she finds the ink in her pen has changed to deep, imperial purple. Shaking her head at her own folly, she inscribes all else that is necessary, keeping her reply to four short words:
Took you long enough.
Fin.
Starring (in order of appearance):
The White Queen........................................Blair Waldorf
The White Knight......................................Nate Archibald
The Rebel General..........................................Chuck Bass
The Lady-In-Waiting..............Serena van der Woodsen
Happy Valentine's Day.