by K R Leikvoll
“So many threats for someone dead and enslaved to oblivion,” I replied as coldly as I felt inside. I ran a bloodied hand through his hair and sobbed. I almost wished he was speaking the truth. I was not blind, however. All he was is lies, lies, lies.
“Dead?” he scoffed. “Have you genuinely retained anything I taught you?”
“Nothing I wished to learn.” I was bitter. We both were.
“Don’t weep, my broken Queen,” he whispered, wiping away the moisture from my face. He was getting harder to hear. Whether that was from my agony or he was finally beginning to slip away, I was unsure at first. “We will be reunited… when the Nephilim’s blade hits her mark, you will know it was from me.”
Sharp, white-hot pain coursed through me. The crimson spider web of lines linking our bond began to turn black – decaying and obliterating. From the middle, they split, curling inward toward both of us like the beckoning finger of Death itself. I released my hold on the blade, clutching Vincent as close to me as physically possible.
Sluggishly trembling, he tucked a lock of my hair behind my ear. A single tear – as clear as one of a mortal – expelled itself from the chasm of his eye, rolling down his cheek. He fought through the pain, gripping my head and luring me closer.
“Until we meet again, Nyzara.”
Before I was ready…
By the Gods, before I was ready –
He breathed out one final time.
His eyes grew glassy as the crimson began to fade.
His hand loosened its grasp and fell limp.
“No!” I screamed. I couldn’t do this. I thought I could, but I was so horribly mistaken.
The red deadened, turning as black as his corneas.
Just like that, he was gone.
As simple as cutting twine...
Everything was gone.
I am no more.
My dearest beloved,
There are no words that will ever be able to express what I need to say to you. I am forced to portray them in mortal means, and by Azotl, it cannot do my emotions true justice.
I foolishly believed once you were dealt with, I would be relieved from all of the trauma you caused me. I loathe your absence as much as I finally feel free from the weight you put on my shoulders. You refused to let me be the fullest version of what I am by lying to me about what made me powerful. You wanted me to fit into your perfect world, and you were not afraid to cut my edges to make it so. What I have endured under your name, I would never wish on another.
You turned me into a person I despised. All of the tangible feelings of light you crushed, only to betray the darkness you plunged me into. And it hurts, Vincent! I despise every soft word you gave me. I hate you for allowing me to love you, aware that I could never be someone you would want. The idea that I will never know the contents of your mind and why… it drives me toward insanity.
Would it not have been easier to kill me in A’roha? I would have never been a threat to your empire, and you would never have been a threat to my heart. So many days I have wished I was smothered by the fire and ash of Levia! And so many days, you kept me around to dance in a cage like your puppet. We both knew you were getting sick, and you knew I would be your end, so why?
Vincent, tell me why! Speak to me from the grave!
Not the meaningless words you dispensed to make me feel insecure – not your inner hatred for the very thing you created. Tell me why I must suffer in these ways! Why was Azotl not enough? Why were your Gods of ten thousand years your enemy? Why was I your enemy?
How can you not see how dark the light truly is?
Every day since you left has been torture. I thought piercing your heart would be the most painful thing I ever encountered, but it wasn’t. Losing you to the light was. Watching you willingly slip from my fingertips that held you above hell was. You wanted the abyss; I could see it in your eyes. There was no fear when you let your life leave.
I wish there would have been. I wish it was as scary for you as it was for me.
Now, I am left behind with nothing. You have only given me emptiness and regret. While you thought this would impair my ability to finish what we started, it has only made it easier to watch Praetis go. How dare you declare me a villain, when all I am, I have gained from you.
You cannot forget:
You were the one to teach me hatred.
You were the one to teach me suffering.
You were the one to teach me that life is meaningless.
How am I cursed for holding the beliefs you instilled within me?
Have you no idea what you have done? You are the one responsible for the end of Praetis – not I! The death of all that fall before Naazvaba should rest on your consciousness, so how dare you try to make me believe the fault rested with me!
I don’t know what is real anymore. This endless grief I have sustained is rotting me inside. There is no meaning in anything I do. There is no purpose in my current existence. Everything without you has soured. My words no longer feel weighted. My confidence has faded to shadows. The euphoric sensation of sacrifice is nothing more than another need to overcome. Intimacy is non-existent, for my body only craves yours. Sleep is the only respite from dealing with your absence, and even my dreams are tainted by your death.
If it was your plan to save Praetis, you failed, beloved. But if it was your intention to attach me to you in order to destroy me equally with yourself, you surpassed that goal. None of it can be forgiven. That hell you swim in – that awful, icy land you now call your home – is exactly what you deserve.
Fret not. It’s exactly what I deserve, too.
I never saw myself making it this far – having enough clarity to document my memoirs. It has helped me recover what I never thought I would remember. Though… I know my mind is ill beyond repair. There is a chance that, perhaps, I had never survived being buried beneath the earth, or through watching everything sacred to me perish. Maybe I had died and been sentenced to a tumultuous hell. I have no way of knowing whether my memories are true or a false dream I recited to myself repeatedly to cling to anything outside of the ever-growing oblivion of madness.
Rather, I have been living in a world within the mist. A place where I could leave something behind and watch it fade away as if it never was. I want to continue the fight for peace, but I have long awaited my own. My vengeful beloved, my Vincent, sits in my kingdom with the God of Treachery, calling out for me to join him.
After such a fate, can anyone blame my fall from grace? I am haunted by my very existence. The only way to make the horrible chorus of thoughts cease is to accept my actions.
I am wretched. I am impure. I am worth nothing.
Yet, this has given me hope – hope that now I can get over transcending ego and submit to my hellish nature. What is the use of fighting what I always was? I was born as vile as everyone else, I just choose to recognize it. To even suggest that Praetis will live beyond this damage is laughable, and I have been content to let it die a slow death.
Nothing has challenged me. My Master died by his own hand rather than face me in combat. No other has been enough to destroy me as I have longed for.
What must I do to make this end? To quiet the screams of the innocent, forever echoing in my head? To finally close my eyes and drift away?
Raven came for me sometime later.
I cannot properly recall how long I laid on the stone ground, holding my beloved’s corpse. It was days – perhaps weeks. I drank the only blood he had to offer, and it was as weak and subtle as a mortal’s. It made me wonder if it had ever been as addictive as I thought it to be. Every single day I had endured with him was a blurry mess I could not begin to untangle.
I looked up at Raven like a child might peer up at their parent when they’ve been caught doing something wrong. He was in no better shape than I was. Claw marks decorated his face where he had clearly been ripping at his flesh in agony. It was mildly relieving to know I was not the only one feeling miserable wi
thout Vince.
I did not know what to say; neither did he.
He kneeled beside me, holding in his emotions with all of the willpower he could muster. He hadn’t had his closure, and though it nearly sent me spiraling into grief to release my hold on Vincent, I allowed Raven to grasp his wrist.
“You foolish bastard!” he yelled before briefly covering his eyes. “You damned fool!”
He leaned over Vince and finally let out tears. We both did.
Being split with my Master showed me exactly what Fevith and Devith endured. It was like having a permanent stake in your heart, pinning you to the ground and making it impossible to move. It truly did feel like part of my soul had been torn from my being and propelled into the deepest pit in existence. When I closed my eyes and concentrated, I swore I could hear him singing to me from Treachery.
When we were ready, we were tasked with doing the ineffable. Vincent was a traitor and an enemy, no matter how much my heart tried to scream otherwise. Traitors did not simply get a quaint burial surrounded by loved ones. No… he had to be displayed as a message to all: to the living members of my coven, to the Infernal Army, to those that dared to still breathe on my planet, to Naazvaba.
We removed his head – a monumental moment. Beheading the beast – the great betrayer. His golden tongue could do no more harm from the grave. He could not lie and sneak his way out of the most precarious prison imaginable. As painful as it was, I knew it was the best place for him to remain. He would be intact and beautiful for an eternity there – lifted from the burdens of his deceitful nature.
I kneeled and bowed my head, allowing Raven to place Vincent’s crown upon me. I had worn Emperor Aresius’ and minor tiaras, but nothing could compare to the sensation of finally wearing the crown of the Damned. It fit perfectly like it was meant for me and not him. My fingers ran over the chilled steel. Sensations had still not returned.
“It’s yours now.” Raven helped me to my feet. “Everything is.”
Together, my coven and I made our way to the front of the palace.
Guinevere was elated, soaring to the heavens with relief – exactly the opposite of me and Raven. It was her glee to enjoy. Not all had made it through my Master’s hands and survived.
The Infernal Army had gathered. They had heard the mournful crying of my soul, desiring comfort and alleviation from my sins. Each foul, horrific, wonderful child of mine was there. They let out screams of bloodlust and uncontrollable excitement as I appeared before them. They held much of the same emotions as Guinevere, pushing me toward internal isolation. Shouldn’t I feel similar? I tried but it was impossible to embrace utter loathing.
A small piece of me will forever belong to Vincent Azra Lyon.
I stepped down the front entrance and held my beloved’s head up for the world to witness.
“Traitor King!” my screams carried for miles.
There were thousands surrounding me, crying out in victory.
“Traitor King!”
Faces on all sides: faces of beloved, of loyalty, of triumph.
“Traitor King!”
They wore expressions of glee. We were exacting our goal.
“Traitor King!”
Yet there is no one.
I am
Irreversibly… eternally
Alone.
About the Author
Leikvoll is an 18th century, horror-loving vampire queen from the west coast. Though her explorations have taken her across the globe, she currently resides in the Pacific Northwest. When she is not tending to the dark whims of her adoring husband during the day, or performing rituals under the moon at night, she is writing tales to haunt your dreams. Sign up for her email list to be the first to get news on releases, sales and events by clicking HERE.
