The study was exactly as Channary had left it.
Not a book, pen or sheet of paper was out of place. A porcelain teacup lay fragile and pretty, still half-full with cold liquid. The golden clock on the far wall was still ticking away merrily, not aware of the events that had occurred just a few days before.
Levana stepped into the vast room, feeling like an intruder. She owed no respect to her late sister; just the thought of feeling uncomfortable in that space was more than Channary deserved. But she still felt unwelcome. The place still felt forbidden. A chill tittered down her spine, the eerie feeling of being watched. Levana imagined Channary hiding behind the statue of herself, waiting to pop out and devour her whole.
Nothing happened, though. Channary never came. Levana forced herself to remember that she was nothing now, just a corpse rotting in the ground. Only when her head started spinning did she realize that she was holding her breath.
The portraits that hung on the wall loomed over her as she wandered about the room, their eyes seeming to follow her every move. One of her parents, one of her grandparents, one of the guard...the list went on. She shivered under their glare.
A few logs sat untouched in the golden fireplace, just waiting to be lit. They seemed to beckon Levana forward, a lighter resting on a metal blade in the wall. With a flick of her thumb, the lighter came to life, and Levana nearly screamed, dropping the thing on the ground. It took her a moment to realize that the flame was gone, that it was just a lighter, a thing that she could control with ease. It wouldn't hurt her. It wouldn't burn her or her child alive.
Gulping, she picked the lighter up with a shaking hand, igniting it once again. A merry little flame danced around the end, nothing like the bonfire that had put her sister and daughter in the ground. It was calm, belonging on a candle.
She crouched down and scrunched up some stray papers, setting them amongst the logs, the lighter still hot and bright in her left hand. She watched with both awe and fear as she brought the flame to the paper, making it catch fire, the red-orange slowly making its way to the wood. Before long, the fire grew too hot for Levana to stand, her face aching. Her scars seemed to be writhing in agony at the reminder of the bonfire, of Selene's screams, of Channary's blood. Her stomach did a triple flip.
She quickly plopped the lighter back in its former place, scurrying away from the fireplace, as if it was haunted. Levana hated the feeling. She hated the feeling of being watched, stalked. She wouldn't be chased out of the room by some ghost.
One of Channary's prized bracelets lay on the desktop, sparkling in the light. Levana gripped it in a clenched fist, a hideous array of gold and diamonds. In an instant, the bangle was buried amongst the ashes and flames, out of sight, out of mind. Levana grinned.
She began tearing down portraits, candlesticks, books―all went in the fire. Trinket after trinket, all of Channary's belongings incinerated. A hairbrush. The teacup. A stray earring. Levana's breathing was heavy by the tenth object thrown, her eyes glinting with madness as she watched her parents burn, the flames wiping away her father's stony face and her mother's graceful fingers.
Gone. They were all gone.
A cackle tore its way from her throat, a strange giddiness replacing the fear in her belly. She went through Channary's desk drawers, her eyes widening as she encountered bottles, dozens of bottles of drink. Channary's secret stash. Levana had seldom seen her sister drunk, but she was well aware of the queen's love of alcohol. The bottles clinked she lifted one out, examining the label; it was vodka.
A surge of curiosity made her snap off the cork, sniffing the contents. The scent of spirits made her head spin, but instead of feeling faint, it sent a rush of excitement through her veins. Her heart was a drummer, marching on without any intention of stopping. She had never been drunk before. She wondered what it was like, and if it would make the memories disappear, if only for the briefest of moments.
Levana glanced around the room, once, twice, before bringing the bottle to her lips, the vodka running down her throat. She let out a sigh, the taste less overwhelming than she thought it would be. Sip after sip, the buzz increased, and Levana wrapped her arms around her chest, feeling warm and fuzzy. She giggled, throwing the bottle in the fire, still half-full; the remaining vodka made the flames brighten, blaring outside of the fireplace. Levana shrieked, jumping back like a frightened bird.
Her chest heaved as she stared at the fire, a surge of rage making a roar tear out of her throat. Her lips began moving before she even realized it, humming a tune under her breath that plagued her mind for the better part of her life.
"And though the…the sun may plead and threaten…" she mumbled, her eyes wide. "The moon will," she cackled, "s-stand her…ground…and all...will know the...wonder..." she gulped, "Of my dark...and jewelled sky...when all the world is wrapped in..." She let out a sharp laugh, clutching her sides as she forced out the choked melody. "An...eternal...AN ETERNAL LULLABY!" she screamed out the last words, as her tears continued to flow down her cheeks.
Levana then gripped another bottle in her fist and threw it against the wall, where it shattered into a million pieces, some glass shards cutting thin lines in her palm. Booze ran down in fizzy bursts, the smell intoxicating. She went over to the bookshelf and pushed it over, making the books fly everywhere. Once the dust settled, a volume in particular opened up and caught Levana's eye. She picked it up and scanned the brick―it was a copy of the bible.
How strange, she thought. Their family had never been of the religious sort. She had never even seen Channary pray. So why a bible? Before she could make sense of it, though, her hand came across a pocket in the back of the volume, housing a small silver dagger. The hilt of the blade was embedded with rubies. Along with it was a folded page of the book, and she held the dagger in her palm, as if it were her protector.
To open the blind eyes, to bring out the prisoners from the prison, and them that sit in darkness out of the prison house." ―Isaiah 42:7
Levana read the passage over and over again, her grip tightening on the blade of the dagger. A mad grin made its way from her eyes to her mouth. Every word became ingrained in her mind. Chuckling, she ripped the page out and threw the rest of the book in the crackling flames.
Amen, sister.
Someone should pay for their sins. And she knew exactly who would.
Evret let out a tired groan as he slumped on his bed, exhausted from the day's work. The guards had been feverishly searching every inch of the palace for the cause of the fire, for the queen's murderer. The higher-ranking thaumaturges were glued to their heels, barking orders left and right; Sybil above anyone else. He had never seen the thaumaturge so stressed and on edge. She seemed ready to kill the entire guard by the time their shift ended.
He lied down and stared up at the ceiling, breathing deeply. He listened intently to the ticking of the clock, a hypnotic lull that made him sleepy.
"Evret Hayle."
He jumped at the sound of his name, his eyes widening as he took in the woman standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a hand on her hip.
"Your Highness?" he asked in disbelief as Levana sauntered over to him, the short skirt of her dress brushing over her thighs, and Evret nearly licked his lips at the sight of her pale legs. He stood, taking a step forward.
"Don't you 'Your Highness' me, you bastard," she slurred. As quick as lightning, she grabbed him by his shirt collar and pushed him against a wall, pressing her body against his. Evret felt a pang of fear at the princess' cold glare, filled with hatred, but having her so close—with her teasing warmth and the feeling of her soft breasts against his chest—dispelled the thought instantly.
She took him by surprise as she slammed her lips on his, sticking her tongue in his mouth, running it over his teeth. He stayed there for a moment, frozen, before grabbing her roughly by the shoulders and kissing her back with primal intensity. He relished in the taste of her, just as sweet as he remembered, save for the strong, bitter tang of alcohol. His eyes widened. Levana drank? He couldn't imagine her—sweet, innocent Levana—ever drinking such hard liquor.
But even in her drunken state, Evret didn't push her away. He didn't stop her as she continued to kiss him, open-mouthed and hot, running her hands through his hair. His calloused hands ran down the length of her body, and he hiked up her skirt, fingers brushing the band of her lacy panties.
Levana mewled softly, gripping the back of his neck. Whether it was in protest or approval, he wasn't sure; not that he really cared. His mouth ground into hers, taking what he wanted, what he needed.
He was oblivious to what was happening. Levana continued to kiss him, her left hand slithering down her body, gripping the dagger tied to her thigh. Evret had no idea what was coming. Last time she didn't fight hard enough. This time, though, she would.
She slipped the dagger from under her dress and plunged it straight into the guard's heart. He tried to fight her, but the shock of the sudden, direct hit was too much—he couldn't match her. He was bigger, but she was more agile. She wanted to win more.
Again and again, she forced the dagger into his heart the way he had forced himself into her. She dedicated each cut: For Malissa. Stab. For Saito. Stab. For Selene. Stab. For every tormented slave on that lunar hell. Stab, stab, stab.
She couldn't even see what she was doing. All she knew was rage, and panic, and darkness. Once Evret was most certainly dead, she let his body fall to the floor like a sack of potatoes, the dagger dripping with blood and staining her dress. Levana laughed, dropping to her knees beside the corpse. With another cackle, she stabbed him again and again, blood spurts landing warm and sticky on her cheeks.
She didn't even hear her come in through the carnage. Only when a mug of coffee dropped to the ground did she look up, met with Sybil's startled eyes.
"Levana, what in the world…what is this?!"
Levana wiped the blood away with her sleeve, standing. "I killed him, Sybil." She looked down at the body as if it were a work of art. "I killed him."
Sybil backed away, ready to make a run for it. Before she could, though, Levana threw an arm around Sybil's neck and brought the dagger to her jugular, ready to cut. "Oh no, you don't. You're not going anywhere," she spat, her breath rancid from the alcohol.
Sybil gulped, her body trembling with fear. "Levana, I promise, I won't tell anyone…just let me go…"
Levana laughed, her fingernails scratching against the rubies on the hilt. "You'd better not, if you want to keep your life," she grinned, bringing the blade up to Sybil's lips, "or your tongue."
Sybil let out a cry of pain as Levana gripped her by the coat and threw her to the ground. The princess put a foot on Sybil's back, pinning her down. "I won't…I would never," Sybil gasped.
"Of course you won't. Because I'm queen now—Channary's dead. Your loyalty now lies with me." She let out another giggle. "I made sure of that."
Sybil's eyed widened. "You…you didn't."
"Oh, but I did. You know that I did."
"I should've known," Sybil said, shaking off Levana's foot and sitting up. "Levana, I know that you're mad and scared, but please, don't continue down this path. Don't turn to murder. Don't become the next Channary," she begged. "This isn't you, and you know it."
"WHAT RIGHT DO YOU HAVE TO SAY WHAT IS AND ISN"T ME?!" Levana roared, making Sybil jump. The princess' face was contorted with rage, her cheeks blotchy around the scars. Her gloved hands were clenched into fists, choking the dagger as if it was Sybil's throat.
"Princess…"
"Princess? Princess? You seem to be forgetting, Sybil, that I am your new queen." She grinned again, her anger replaced with mad glee. "There is no more Princess Levana. She was nothing but a pathetic child, unable to defend herself from the most minor of threats. She died with Channary and Selene; she burned in the fire. All that's left now is me, the beautiful Queen Levana!" she exclaimed, breaking into a fit of giggles. "And nothing you say will ever change that!"
Sybil stood, tears running down her cheeks. "Levana, you don't have to do this." She wiped her eyes. "And no. This," she gestured to Levana, "new you isn't beautiful. None of this is beautiful. Murder is not beautiful."
Levana's anger lit her face again, and she turned to the mirror on the far wall, every scar on her face, every burn making her shake with rage. The sight of her metal arm was her breaking point, and she screamed, covering her mouth. It was too much. Too, too much.
"I AM BEAUTIFUL!" she screamed, grabbing the nearest object—a lamp on the desk—and throwing it at the mirror, watching with glee as it made a spider-web crack on the surface. Sybil stood back, terrified, as she watched Levana hurl every object in sight at the mirror, until there was nothing left but a metal frame. "I AM THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN ON LUNA, AND YOU KNOW IT!"
Sybil began to sob. Where were the guards? Surely someone must've heard that…
Levana faced her, her eyes wide. The glint of insanity shook Sybil to the core. "You will never tell anyone about this, or Channary. If you do, so help me God, I will go after your family and kill every puny person that you care about."
"Levana…don't…"
Levana took a deep breath, the glimmer of Sybil's bioelectricity rolling off of her in waves. Her energy was twisted with fear, and Levana smiled. She had never tortured anyone before. She had never used her glamour other than to hide beneath a mask. She became intimately acquainted with Sybil's energy, feeling a power like no other rushing through her veins.
She was lunar. She was gifted. Now, it was time to use it.
When Sybil lunged forward in a ditch effort to protect herself, Levana seized her mind and attacked.