“No wonder she forgot all of that. And to think Edwin was killed by a Pontiff,” Halwen said as he watched the memory unfold.
“…”
“Arkmarschall, it seems we have located the block. Should we proceed with the treatment?”
“No,” Leopold said with clear certainty. “There is more to it.”
More to it? Lina thought as she looked at her friend strapped in the chair like a statuette left half completed. Her brain twitched slightly under the needle.
“Halwen, get another set of needles. The ones I left in my office. They are obsidian—should conduct mana better.”
Halwen nodded and went outside the room, leaving Lina and Leopold alone.
“Arkmarschall, what exactly is the Cult?”
“Degenerates, born of Imperium corruption,” he said. “Lina, be useful. Commit yourself to Ewige Schlange, and both of you will rid the world of the Imperium and the Cult altogether.”
For all the sins the Cult had committed against Vierna, Lina had just found another target for her revenge. Embers stoked in her heart turned into a pyromaniac zeal that wouldn’t even flickered until the Imperium and Cult gone. For herself and for her future and Vierna’s.
After a while, Halwen returned with another set of needles. Whether real or not, they seemed much longer and sharper than the previous ones. Arkmarschall Leopold placed them once more into Vierna’s brain. Lina felt the urge to vomit again, but luckily there was nothing left in her stomach.
The projection flickered again, showing brown soil, freshly heaped. At the end of it was a slab of marble carved by Sylvaria herself.
“Here lies Edwin, beloved Husband and Father.”
Alice looked at the tombstone again, unable to accept that it marked her father’s grave. Just yesterday they had been talking about starting a new life—leaving the military behind, living in peace, fermenting grapes, and making wine. But now it seemed her father would be making wine in Heaven instead, while she was left to carry on with the burden of life.
She looked again at the gilded Silverveil Bloom that marked the grave. Its petals were tainted with golden specks from Harmus’s spell. The wind stirred around it, yet the bloom stood stiff, unmoving—as if to show her that no matter what she did, it would always remain that way, unchanged by the world or by her will.
It was a grim reminder that death could not be undone. Its rigidity revealed an even crueler truth, as clear as a straight line: this flower was the very thing that had killed her father, its sin confirmed openly by his murderer.
She looked toward her mother, whose expression was blank, like a canvas yet to be painted. The shimmering eyes that had once been full of life and hope, that had once loved her unconditionally, were now empty and hollow. Her black hair no longer glowed; it seemed faded against the blue sky behind her, a sign that she was only a shell of who she had been, robbed not only of her husband but of the very reason she existed.
“Mom, I’am sorry, this is all my fault for asking him that flower.”
Her mother didn’t answer, but she slowly, gently patted Alice’s head, as if telling her it wasn’t her fault. Alice clutched at Sylvaria’s black silken dress, soft in her hands like winter snow. Yet the true comfort didn’t come from the fabric—it came from that gentle pat, a fleeting sense that everything might be alright. A fragile comfort that could only mask the guilt already gnawing inside her, but she accepted it nonetheless.
After a while, her mother moved, turning back toward the mansion where they lived. It seemed they had not buried Edwin in the soldiers’ cemetery, since he was technically no longer a soldier. No—his grave lay in their own backyard, the place where they had spent most of their time together. Playing, laughing. But now, it was a place of rest, without laughter disturbing the one who laid down there.
They entered the house, but it no longer felt like the place they used to know. The empty hall echoed with their footsteps, dull sunlight filtering through the windows. With only the two of them left, it felt less like a home and more like a mausoleum.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Sylvaria went to her chamber. When Alice tried to follow, her mother stopped her.
“Alice, I am tired. Can you sleep in your own chamber for a while? Forgive me for being selfish.”
“Okay, Mother. Please let me know if you need anything.”
Her mother didn’t respond. She simply closed the door, quiet and final.
Alice stood there for a while, unsure of what to do. The image of the door shutting before her lingered, and she could only stare at it, frozen in place. She thought that maybe this was what would happen between her and her mother because of her actions. She tried to tell herself it was what she deserved for killing her father, yet she still couldn’t bring herself to fully accept that fact.
Just accept it—you did this. You killed Father and made Mother sad, she whispered inwardly. You deserve nothing. You were born this way, only ever bothering people. No wonder you don’t have any friends. Who would want to be friends with trash like you?
DON’T YOU EVER CRY. DON’T. YOU USELESS SHIT. YOU WANT TO DISTURB MOTHER EVEN NOW?
And so she obeyed the voice in her head, biting down on her lips. But it was useless. Tears swelled in her eyes. She covered her mouth and ran, desperate not to cry in front of the door. That was when she heard it—wailing, trembling through the hollowed mansion, filling it with a suffocating tune that felt as if the sound alone could snuff out her soul.
Perfect. Just perfect. Now you made Mother cry. How can you even live with yourself?
She fled, unable to face her mother’s room. In her own chamber she buried her head in the sheets. No scream came, only her fists striking her chest again and again, as if beating herself hard enough would let her cough up all the poison she carried inside.
After this scene her projection went black, it appears that Alice fainted after this, overwhelmed by her own emotion.
As she woke, the room was lit by orange sunlight bleeding through the window. It seemed she had fainted the whole afternoon. She looked around, and it that the voice inside her head have calmed down a bit.
Her thoughts quickly darted to her mother. She should be awake by now.
Mother hasn’t eaten all afternoon. Maybe I can at least be useful and bring her something to her room.
So she went to the kitchen and fetched a tray with some bread. Looking into the food storage, she saw there was still plenty left, so she added some smoked meat as well. With the tray in her hands, she walked slowly toward her mother’s room, careful not to let the food spill.
She opened the door without knocking. There, she saw her mother sitting on the bed, staring blankly at the wall as if a phantom lingered there. Her black dress was tattered, torn in places so that porcelain-white skin showed through, mixing with the orange sunlight that bled across the room. She looked like a defiled fae dancer, gazing into the distance as though her lost innocence were staring back at her.
“Mom…”
She snapped out of it, looked at her daughter like she was finally there.
“I’am sorry Alice, I am a bad mother aren’t I?”
“No mother…”
“I should’ve comforting you, telling you that is not your fault.”
“…”
“Alice, now it’s only the two of us, and I know that you are too young to hear this, but I won’t lie to you and saying that we are going to be okay.” Sylvaria said, “The truth is, we've got no money, all our saving were used by your father to pay for his early retirement.”
“Tomorrow, we will go to your grandparent,” She continued. “I will try to ask them for work, they are in the military maybe I could be a servant or something.”
“I’am so sorry mother… it was my selfishness that killed father.”
“Alice, you know that’s not true, it wasn’t your fault.”
“But I…”
“Alice don’t ever blame something that wasn’t your fault, this was all Harmus’s fault. I should have stick a knife in his throat while I was his wife.”
As she said it, Alice looked into her mother’s eyes. The blankness was replaced by pure rage and vengeance—the kind of wrath Alice had never seen before, nor ever thought she would see from her mother.
“…”
“Oh God, I am sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s okay, Mother,” she said, trying to reassure her despite how scared she was as her mother’s bloodlust took temporary control.
“Alice listen, don’t ever said that you killed your father, it was not you, never your fault.”
“Okay mom.”
She want to hug her mother but still the guilt and the remorse hold her back like a shackles on her throat. Too tight to even let her breath.
So instead her mother hugged her, even tighter than the shackles. They broke on spot, dispelling the guilt gnawing on her soul. And for the first time in what it seemed like an eternity of suffering, everything felt like it was going to be okay.
“Mom…”
“Oh my, you brought me some food? Hehe, what a lovely child you are.”
She had returned—the kind mother Alice always knew.
“Did you cook it?” she asked.
“No, Mom. I just took what we had from the storage. I’m sorry, I should have made you something warm.”
“Hmmm, but the last time you cooked, everything turned black for some reason.”
“Hehe.”
“It’s okay, Alice. Everything will be all right. Now come, let us eat.”
And so the two of them ate the cold bread and smoked meat as if, for a fleeting moment, everything truly was going to be all right.
Will things be all right after this?
