~*~
Hidden deep in the bowels of Castle White and warded by the strongest of magic, was a small, but terrifying room. No one entered this room without the approval of Rosalyn, the sorceress queen of Rylak.
The room was dimly lit by strategically placed candles, ancient and terrible symbols decorated both the ceiling and floor, a floor stained by horrors and events never spoken of. Horrors that should never be spoken of.
The Queen of Rylak spent much, much time in this dank and sinister room. Much more than she had ever envisioned she would when she had first commissioned it. Much more than she had ever wanted to.
And so, on the eve of Snow’s sixteenth birthday, Rosalyn made one more trek down to this most secret room....
She took a deep breath upon entering the room and went straight to the stone table, just left of centre in the room.
She gripped the knife that was placed conveniently on the table with her right hand and and made a neat slice down the wrist of her left. Carefully she replaced the knife on the table beside her and held her weeping wrist over the cauldron, chanting ominous sounding words in a soft, low voice.
Closing her eyes, she began the chant from the beginning again, only faster and with more passion and intensity. And still, her wrist wept its life blood into the cauldron that sat on the table.
Alaric, her Stepmother’s newest body guard stepped out from the shadows. Where ever Rosalyn went, he was surely no more than ten paces behind...even here in this small corner of hell. He was tall, and well built with thick, very blonde hair and equally dark eyes, eyes that now held more than a small dose of apprehension. He watched his sovereign bleed uncontrollably into the strangely sinister looking cauldron, his handsome mouth strained and tight. He reached for a towel to staunch the blood that flowed so freely, how he hated all of this.
Her voice rose and he stepped forward in alarm.
She screamed and her breathing became erratic. From the four corners of the room, great shadows joined together monstrously, taking on the hideous shape of a beast, it loomed over the beautiful queen, as if preparing to consume her whole. Involuntarily she shuddered.
“Alaric” She gasped. “Get the hell out out of here or it will kill us both!”
He drew his sword quickly and stepped forward, determined to place himself between the hideous shadow beast and his queen.
“You can’t help me, you can only assure both of our deaths! Go!” She cried, her face pasty white from blood loss.
He threw the towel at her to staunch the blood, and was horrified to watch the shadow beast knock over the cauldron, sending the contents flowing all over the cold stone floor. Valiantly Rosalyn struggled to remain standing as the shadow beast consumed the blood offering from the floor, floating all over the terrified queen’s form. She flinched and gasped as if burned with every caress.
Hating himself, but knowing that she spoke the truth, he left. Outside the room he softly swore to himself, how many times would they have to do this. How many times could she stand it? Strong as his queen was, in the end she was still, only human. Would she ever find another way? In his heart, he hated the mirror...it always came back to the mirror. If he ever he had the opportunity...he would smash it to slivers. He hated the dark magic she trafficked in, yet he understood why, and still he blamed the mirror. He struggled to block out the sound of her screams, wanting to burst in and slaughter the shadow beast, yet knowing his sword was laughably ineffective when dealing with something so formless and evil.
And then she stopped screaming. He cautiously opened the door.
Rosalyn lay in a heap in the centre of the room, her silver gown ripped and stained with her own blood, her face and arms covered in small burns and bruises. He rushed to her side and cradled her head, she was still breathing...and she was crying. He didn’t have to ask, it was another failure.
“Find Gregor for me. Bring my huntsman here.” She rasped through dry and cracked lips.
He closed his eyes, torn between relief and sorrow. She had finally given in.
Evermore: Snow Falls Page 7
