Four Suits (Book 1)

Day 39-2: Blackjack

DAY 39-2: BLACKJACK

   The Queen of Hearts lies before her eyes.

   The dim light of dawn trickles in from the large window at the opposite end of the room, her eyelids are closed, hands folded over her chest. In the king-sized bed of pink silk, all the muscles in her face and body are still. Not a twitch, not a spasm—barely any movement besides her breasts rising and falling with each subtle intake of air. As if she's dead. Or an immortal vampire, but Leda can't be too sure.

   It's hard to comprehend why or how she can see and hear all this, but somehow she does. Somehow, she's alive.

  When she first came to, it was the middle of the night. She was surrounded by nothing but darkness, and the iciness of the room brought chills to her exposed neck. With every blink she can still see flashes of that Heart. The sword gliding across her neck and slicing both bone and flesh. Soaring through the air, her body detached and crumpling before darkness swallowed her whole.

   Even now, she's assured she's hallucinating. Because even now, she's just a head.

   In the large mirror a foot away, she's reflected inside of it. But it's only her head. More faces than she can begin to count envelope her sight, each grotesque and hung by a nail in the wall. Spades, Hearts. She recognizes Monds in this array as well.

   It's a wall entirely dedicated to heads. From old, half-decayed ones with crooked eyeball sockets and missing ears or lips to newer, fresher ones like her.

   Leda would honestly throw up, but then again she doesn't exactly have a stomach to really expunge anything from.

   How is it possible to be alive as a head? She believed this can only be done if you were some zombie. How about Orian? What exactly happened with that Heart? Is he fine?

   Her mind races with insurmountable questions. She tries to swallow, but can't. She doesn't have a throat to. If she could feel the rest of her extremities she would definitely be shaking.

   She had a boatload of questions for Rhett!

   Leda's internal monologue is brought to a halt with a gentle hoot ahead. She aims her gaze onto the large snowy owl positioned nearby. It's nearly the height of the room—like a giant of some sort. Head tilted to the side, it rakes her over with its beady eyes. Then, without warning, it shoots its head forward, beak stabbing into the wall. Leda feels her imaginary heart stop in her chest as it retreats, gobbling up the Spade head that was once residing beside her.

  Its wings ruffle, as if getting ready to take off. Leda shuts her eyes, helpless to another attack. She might've lived through a beheading but there's no ways she'd survive after being digested.

   "Now, now, Grimm." A listless yawn rips through the air. "Don't go eating my heads."

   'Grimm' backs off at the last second. Its neck returns to its place, eyes shifting toward the bed where Estelle Hestia rises. Her eyelids part, and her turquoise irises are just as stunning as Leda remembers.

   When Estelle shifts her gaze to the tall wall, her lips twist high, a soft crinkle appearing at the corner of her eye. The same look an artist would have when completing their favourite piece. Still, it's that smile alone that leaves Leda stiff. It bears the innocence of a regular mother, not an evil Queen.

   The expression is a mirror of Straeh itself. That it's those who are the most looney who are capable of putting on the best facades.

"Fine," she relents. Her duvets are carried off her body and a nice robe falls to her shoulders. She's on her toes, in front of the large window and blinding sunlight before long. "I'll let you have two or three more," she goes on, her grin stretching to her ears. "Today is a very gracious day, after all."