DEMON CRY

32.

A beautiful tall woman stared at the deep sky streaked with red. Her long and darkly painted nails struck against the cold metal railing in a series of delicate clangs. She wore a long purple tunic that bordered by snow coloured fur with a heavy golden crown on her raven hair. 

The shadows danced on her tough and pale skin as the sky shifted colours. 

Her face was serene, concealing the dread that rose up her throat. 

She long yearned for her son's laughter to ring around the empty walls as they used. A sharp ache rose in her chest as she tried to recollect his face. It was hard to do so but if there was anything she did remember, it was his merry ways and his sophisticated charm. 

It was upsetting how people thought he was a tyrant, a horrible monster. He had made some wrong choices in his life but the crimes he had committed didn't justify his punishment- It did not justify her punishment. 

If only she could see his face again. 

A white and hot flash of rage surged through her. Her fingers curled around the frosty railing. It did nothing to calm her anger. If one were to see the Queen of the Demons, they would run for the hills. Despite her expressionless face, her fury was conveyed mighty well when the atmosphere around her crackled. 

She was suffering while the ones responsible were celebrating. It came to her like a lash- fast, hard followed by a blinding explosion of pain. It was their way of mocking her grief. 

The day they celebrated was the same day she mourned. 

Her son would've grown into a handsome man and a worthy King. 

Tears flooded her eyes at her incompetence but she did not let them fall. She did not deserve to cry. 

Eight years ago, she had tried to revive her son, hoping to quell the aching misery in her heart but somehow, someone had managed to insult her by stealing from her. She thought the curse would be enough to scare him and coax him into returning it. The curse had taken a large part of her away.

A few months after that, she realized that the one she had cursed was the Dithrai Crown Prince. 

She wanted to scream into the night. 

The Crown Prince was happy despite his curse. Her sources had told her that he was courting the one he had shared the bond chalice with. 

Her son would've been courting someone too if he weren't dead. 

She even sent the best assassins to have her killed when he was occupied in Tracovia. It had been a disaster because the woman lived and had an unbelievable stroke of power within her. Only fools would be oblivious to what she was- an Octavian, yet another victim of her son's bad choices. 

The Queen of the Demons turned away and marched into the darkroom. The golden archways glowed without any light. To the normal eye, it would be like entering a dark cave but to her, the black marble floor and the walled mirrors were strangely apparent. In the centre of the hall, right below the tip of the dome, was a coffin, covered with a piece of red velvet fabric. 

Her breath stilled as she smoothed the creases on the fabric. It was counterproductive because the very next moment, she tugged it causing the fabric to slip through her fingers only to reveal the glass cased coffin. The sides of the coffin were plated with gold on which the deceased's life was carved intricately. It was rested on a larger slab of dark marble. The top was enclosed by clear glass. 

Inside, lay a cadaver untouched by time, lovingly wrapped in finest fabrics found in the Demon Lands. The skin was as flawless and smooth as that of a living being's. 

Magic could do wonders. 

For five years she had planned an act of perfect revenge, patiently and carefully. She would inflict the same pain on all of the Dithrai Kingdom. She would make them suffer. 

Her determined eyes swept through the archways and then back to the coffin. 

Despite the cadaver's perfection, it was difficult to determine who it was. 

Queen Seyanora pressed a hand against her mouth as her face contorted with unspoken misery. A loud sob echoed in the hall despite her efforts to maintain the enshrouded silence. Even after all this time, it was difficult to look at him. 

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she fell on the cold marble floor unable to stand the sight of the cadaver. 

It was her dear son, of course, but she dearly wished that she could see sleepy his face.