In the opulent throne room, the first princess of the Blood Crimson Kingdom, Aira Lilith Hiellius, stood amidst a macabre scene of carnage. The air was thick with the coppery scent of blood that slicked the marble floors and clung to the velvet curtains. Lifeless knights lay sprawled across the chamber, their armor rent, their weapons discarded.

At the heart of this sanguine tableau, Aira loomed over the fourth prince, Shard Glenn Hiellius, who sat upon the crimson-draped throne, unshaken but with sweat beading his brow, a tacit acknowledgement of the peril perilously close to his throat.

"It's over, Shard," Aira said, pressing the sword closer to his neck, a thin line appearing on his skin, soon followed by a trickle of blood.

The prince let out a small laugh, his eyes flicking briefly to the growing crimson liquid on his neck before meeting his sister's gaze. "Sister, no matter how much you resent me, I will always love you deep down in my heart."

With a loud scream, fueled by untamed rage, Aira swung her sword. In one decisive motion, she beheaded her brother, the act itself a stark representation of the coup d'etat's violent overthrow.

Aira's eyes, once fierce and resolute, now brimmed with conflicting emotions. "Even to the end, you still smiled warmly at me, Shard..." Her voice, once commanding, now carried a weight of sorrow.

Tears began to flow freely down her cheeks, a stark contrast to the anger that had driven her moments before. She clenched her fists, the weight of her actions settling upon her shoulders as she sheathed her sword.

And then, the dramatic stillness of the aftermath was broken. The doors to the throne room creaked open, and in stepped Rainhert Brian Hiellius, the second eldest prince, accompanied by two members of the dukedoms: Duke Cloudimus and Duke Mirajane.

Rainhert's eyes flickered between the gruesome scene and his sister, a mix of admiration and contempt playing across his features. "My dear sister. What a heroic and affectionate display."

Aira stood frozen, caught between relief at her brother's praise and the undeniable weight of her actions. Before she could utter a word, more members of the dukedoms poured into the room, their eyes widening at the sight before them.

As the witness to the massacre grew, so too did the air of accusation. Rainhert leaned closer to Aira and whispered, "You love me, right, my beloved sister?"

Aira was taken aback by his intensity. But her brother's next words, spoken with a loud voice that echoed through the chamber, sent a chill down her spine. "Sister, how could you do this?! You killed our brother! Were you behind the coup d'etat all along?"

Despair gripped Aira as she realized the gravity of her actions and the web of misconceptions they had woven. To make matters worse, her fiancé, Duke Newgate, stood among the newcomers, his expression indifferent as he beheld the scene of his betrothed soaked in the blood of her kin.

Rainhert's voice boomed, issuing an order that tore at Aira's heart: "Guards, take her away and throw her in the dungeon. She is to be beheaded publicly in three days."

Aira, once a proud princess and now a condemned prisoner, was dragged away, her eyes fixed on Duke Newgate, searching for even a glimpse of the love they once shared. But all she found was detachment. As she was led away, her mind raced with conflicting emotions: "I love you both. I did it so you both will look at me. I thought you would both understand... I was wrong."

In the solitude of her dungeon cell, Aira's resolve weakened. She refused to eat or drink, accepting that her time was drawing to a close as the days counted down to her public execution.

As Aira lay helpless on the cold dungeon floor, her mind wandered back to happier times when her family spent carefree days together. She wondered where it had all gone wrong, questioning the origins of the rift that now threatened to tear their once-harmonious unit apart.

On the day of her execution, Aira stared at the bloodstained blade on the altar, the very instrument that would end her life. The crowd roared with hatred, calling her traitor and witch, their curses echoing through the square.

But even as her own life ebbed away, Aira's thoughts turned to vengeance. She cursed her brother for his betrayal, her husband for his apathy. With her final breath, she swore, "I will have my revenge," and the blade fell, severing her head from her body.

Then, everything went dark. In the abyss of her subconscious, she heard a sweet, angelic voice: "My beloved daughter, what have they done to you?"

The gentle kiss of a saintess in spirit form graced Aira's forehead, and she found herself opening her eyes to see a tearful woman holding her like a child