Levana awoke in pain.
No surprise there—when was the last time she had opened her eyes in the morning and thought, this is going to be a good day? Most of the time, she woke up in tears, shaking from the remnants of her daily nightmare.
But this time, her slumber had been relatively calm. For the briefest of moments, Levana felt at peace, but, of course, it didn't last. The first thing that she was aware of was the sound of her own voice. She moaned, a rasp that barely passed for that of a human. Her throat was raw, as was the rest of her body. Her muscles felt torn and useless. Her eyes stung. It hurt to swallow, to move, to breathe.
(so hot it burns why does it hurt so much mommy daddy help me)
The oh-so-familiar beeping of monitors and IV drips were the first indicator of where she was. Levana groaned internally and kept her eyes shut. She didn't want to see the blinding white of the ICU; she was so sick of hospitals. Of the bland rooms, of medicine and chemicals and God knows what else. The soft pillow that held her head up did nothing to help the pounding.
(get me out of here I hate it get me out get me out no no no)
She felt a cool hand touch her arm, and she let out a soft sigh despite her raw throat. Her burning skin seemed to beg for the cold touch, and she found herself fantasizing about ice. A sweet ice cream dream…
"You'll be okay, Your Highness," Cool Hand said, his voice soft and lyrical. Levana frowned. Since when was she ever okay?
"Are you in pain?" he asked, his cold hand brushing her arm again.
"Yes," Levana croaked.
The hand came behind her back, helping her into an upright position. Levana glanced up at the man that belonged to it—another doctor, another pitying face. She frowned. They all seemed so faceless now. In that moment, she realized just how little people she actually knew. Just how many people there were who attended to her, nameless beings in the background.
"Where is…where is Selene?" she managed to say as the doctor gave her painkillers, gently probing her arm.
He looked up at her, his brilliant green eyes downcast and his features contorted in sadness. "I'm sorry, Princess. Her Highness is gone. All they've found is an arm and a leg." He lowered his head. "Your sister, too. They're both deceased. I'm so, so sorry."
It took Levana a moment to let the news sink in, her muddled mind mulling over each word. Gone. Dead. Selene is dead. Your baby is—
"No," Levana whimpered, clutching the sheets like a vice. "You're wrong. She's not gone. She can't be…"
"I'm so sorry for your loss," the doctor said. "I wish it wasn't true, but…the fire killed Selene. There was barely a body left. You're lucky that you escaped with your life, Princess." He put a hand on her shoulder. "Your sister on the other hand, well—we suspect murder."
(murderer you sick killer you did this you should burn in hell like Channary you should join her you sick killer)
Levana sniffed. "And why do you say that?"
"She was dead by the time the fire got to her; stabbed repeatedly in the abdomen. This is the work of an assassin, at least according to the court."
Levana sunk back further into her pillow, rubbing away her tears. A stinging pain made her wince and flinch away.
"Be careful, Your Highness; the fire did a good number on you, too." He gently put a finger on her left cheek, careful not to press down on the angry red blisters that swarmed her skin. "It'll leave faint scarring, but your eyes are still intact, as is your hair. Consider yourself lucky; you could've fared much worse."
Levana let the hot tears fall, making her hair stick to her neck along with the remnants of her sweat. "I'm so glad," she lied, hiding her metal hand beneath the sheet, as if doing so would make the doctor forget that it existed. But of course he knew. They all knew. Most of them had done her surgeries, had stitched up her face and had helped her give birth. The last one, though, was kept a secret by threat of death. Channary made sure of that.
Even with her sister dead, gone, Levana couldn't help but think of herself as an object.
To be used and thrown away when anyone so pleased.
The next day was no more tolerable than the previous one.
Levana was released from the hospital, the left half of her face covered in gauze. Her old bedroom had also caught fire along with the nursery, nearly all of her belongings were beyond repair, including her clothes and her sketchbooks. Levana couldn't stop sobbing as she watched servants dig through the ashes, pulling up charred sketches and grand paintings, all unrecognizable. All the time and effort that she had poured in. Gone, gone, gone.
It felt like she herself had been destroyed.
(but I worked so hard on this so many pencils oh no please not that one it was my favourite)
Her new quarters were located on the other side of the palace, much more lavish and large than her childhood room. Large windows draped in sheers lined the walls, and a massive embroidered carpet spanned most of the marble floor, soft and lush under her bare feet. A massive closet held hundreds of gowns, some hand-me-downs from her mother, others made brand-new by Artemisia's finest seamstresses.
Akiho had marvelled at the room for hours, exploring every nook and cranny. Levana took a nap. The whole afternoon was a mix of crying, sleeping and being held in Akiho's arms, who whispered words of comfort that fell on dead ears. Levana felt like a shrivelled prune by nightfall, having shed nearly every tear in her body.
Morning came quickly, almost obnoxiously so. Levana had to drag herself out of bed, barely holding down a breakfast of yogurt and raspberries. Her stomach was in knots by the time ten o'clock rolled around, the time-teller in question toiling loudly as she stood at the far edge of the graveyard, holding a small urn in her gloved hands, filled with Selene's remains.
She sobbed hysterically as she fell to her knees, clutching the box to her heart. My darling. My baby. There was no funeral for the young princess. Levana wanted to speeches, no eulogies for her beloved daughter. They meant nothing, anyway.
She had dug the grave in the ground herself. The space around her was void of any life, only the dead silenced by decades in the mud. She had demanded to be left alone to grieve. Instead of black, she was dressed head to toe in soft violet, a purple dress, lilac gloves. Both her and Selene's favourite colours. She didn't want to terrify her sleeping child, looking like a black spectre.
Levana laid the box down at the bottom of the hole, gently pushing in the dirt that rested on the side. Dump. Dump. Before long, the pit was filled and Levana pat the dirt down until it was flat. A few tears rolled down her cheeks and wet the brown soil.
(Selene sweetie don't worry mommy's not going anywhere I'll never leave you alone in the dark)
The princess placed a gentle kiss on the small headstone, engraved with tiny flowers and stars. "Goodbye, sweetie," she managed, pressing her forehead against the stone.
Another funeral. Another ceremony.
Levana was really beginning to hate those.
Her mourning dress was a little too tight, quite constricting after the days of being either in a hospital gown or stark naked. The domes were once again cleared that day, the earth looming high over Artemisia, right out of Levana's reach. Mocking her, taunting her. Reminding her of all the things that she had lost.
Levana made her way to the back of the chapel before the rites, drawn by some unknown force. She shouldn't have been there. She didn't want to be there. And yet, there she was, taking in the sight of the casket resting in the middle of the small room, the scent of charred flesh wafting through the air despite the perfume of flowers. She crinkled her nose. The smell was horrid, but yet, she found herself inhaling over and over again, her nose welcoming it. She ran her spindly fingers across the sleek marble of the coffin, cool and shiny. The thing must've weighed a ton.
Her suspicions were quickly confirmed as she lifted the lid up with a grunt, cringing. The slab of rock came to a halt over the other side of the casket, and she peered into the box, where her sister's corpse was placed.
The beautiful Queen Channary was beautiful no more.
Her battered head rested on a frilly pillow, and her face was nearly unrecognizable, her cheeks so cut up that Levana could see the white bone beneath the charred skin. The ends of her hair were burnt off, singed and black. Despite the undertakers' efforts to make her look somewhat presentable, her once-white skin was shredded like tissue paper and covered in black welts and ugly gashes. Someone had mustered the decency to close her eyes.
Levana quickly shut the casket, quite sure that her breakfast was about to make a reappearance.
After the sickening sight, Levana stuck up a lip and endured the procession, wearing a fake face and crying fake tears. Countless nobles came up to her and gave their sympathies. She'll be dearly missed. What a shame, such a lovely life, gone. How horrid it must be for you; first your parents, and now your sister. We're so sorry.
Lies. All lies.
After the dull rites, the late queen was buried in the cemetery, next to her parents, per tradition. Her headstone was a lovely shade of blue, covered from base to top in flowers—tulips, lilies, roses. Levana was disgusted throughout the whole affair. Even in death, Channary got her splendour, her flamboyant excess. Even in death she got things that she didn't deserve. Things that Levana knew she never would've gotten, if the tables were turned.
After thirty minutes, most people had retreated to the main hall for the reception, leaving Levana alone, the only one left. She dismissed her guards, and to her immense surprise, they obeyed. It took her a moment to realize that they had to do what she wanted. They had to see to her every request.
She was their new queen.
Levana scrunched her nose. It hadn't even crossed her mind, as she stabbed Channary over and over again, that she would be taking her place. All that mattered was Selene. And revenge. Cold, heartless revenge.
She had gotten it. Levana had finally done what she had dreamed of doing for all those years—but she wasn't in the least bit satisfied. Channary's death wasn't enough. It would never be. For every tear that she had ever cried, Levana wanted someone's blood spilt. For every slap, for every stinging, harmful word, she wanted a head mounted on her wall.
Her gaze was like fire as she stared at the headstone, loopy letters engraved into the rock.
—
QUEEN CHANNARY LUCIA BLACKBURN OF LUNA
May 18th, 84 T.E.—October 6th, 112 T.E.
MAY SHE REST IN PEACE
—
Levana sneered, crossing her arms over her chest. "I hope you rest in fiery, torturous peace," she muttered, trampling a few bouquets on the ground as she sauntered closer. "You don't deserve this. You don't deserve anything but the pain and torment of hell."
The tombstone didn't reply, as silent as the grave that it sat upon. Channary would never speak again. Channary would never mock her again.
The thought brought a smile to Levana's face.
"What, cat got your tongue, sister dearest?" Levana laughed. "You don't want to speak up, now that you're hideous and weak?"
No response; not that she expected one.
"How does it feel, hmm? How does it feel to be nothing, forgotten, hated?"
The petals of the flowers fluttered in the slight breeze.
"Now you know. Now you finally know how I felt my whole life. Now you finally know what it's like to be me." She spun around, her skirt billowing around her legs. "I hope you're happy. I hope you're proud."
In Levana's imagination, a silent scream resonated from the ground, as if Channary were roaring in fury.
"Goodbye, big sister. It's been a real pleasure."
In a final act of disrespect, Levana turned around and spat on Channary's grave.