Tales of the Lost: Reign

in utero

“I believe I’ve died now.” The young maiden rasped. She lay on a cross; her hands, legs, and neck bound with thick and heavy vines, nailed to the wood. Accompanying the fire at her feet, the people’s chants lay heavy in her ears.

“Death to the demon!”

“Burn the witch!”

“She killed the Empress!”

“The Lord punished us with her!”

She could barely hear to begin with, having lived a life of hardship, manipulation, abuse, and discrimination. At the age of 15, she looked more akin to a peasant child of 14 years.

On the cartoonishly large wooden cross, lay Emmeranne A’er De La Clare, the Holy Empire’s devil, witch, and curse. One who had taken the brunt of curses and hatred all her life.

In retrospect, Emmeranne should have been born with luck. Her father was a Grand Duke, one whose power battled even the mightiest of Kings. Her mother, although born a peasant, was blessed with such a beauty that married her into one of the most powerful families. Her half-sister, adored by all, was the Empress of the Holy Empire. Despite such blessings, Emmeranne was born with such a horrible fate determined for her.

She closed her eyes, the heat burning her eyes. There was no point in speaking, in hearing, in seeing. Emmeranne had given up the moment she’d forced the dagger through her. Through Guinevere. Through her children. The children the world had gushed about. The children who will never know their mother because of her—

“If I may,” a voice spoke close to her ear. Was it a woman’s or a man’s the voice belonged to? It seemed to be a mix of a child’s, of an adult’s, of an animal, and of nothing. Regardless of what it was, Emmeranne didn’t bother to react. She resigned the voice to something of her imagination, most likely Gwen’s ghost. She wouldn’t be surprised.

“If I may,” the voice spoke again, louder. Emmeranne opened her eyes, expecting a ghost, but instead seeing a creature. It wasn’t any natural animal, at least not one she knew. Its form changed with every blink she took, but a wide, sharp, and toothy grin stayed on each form.

“Satan...” Emmeranne whispered. Its grin grew impossibly larger.

“Pray forgive my impertinence, but should I be so bold as to venture an observation, it would appear that you might benefit from a succoring hand.” The creature beamed, motioning to the angry crowd circling around her.

It spoke too fast, she didn’t understand. Emmeranne didn’t want to risk angering it. She tilted her head.

“Pray, sir, is it indeed the infernal regions that you propose to escort me towards?” There would be no other place deserving of her than hell. However, her question only furthered her confusion as the creature’s grin dropped.

“Do not suppose that I harbor any sentiment of concern for your unfortunate predicament.” It sighed. If this being was not here to take Emmeranne to hell, what else would it want with her? She had no more use, not anymore.

“Indeed, I am to act solely by the dictates of a certain code of ethics, which I am bound to observe.” It muttered, eyes distracted, searching for something beyond Emmeranne. Emmeranne lay her head against the cross yet again. Sleep was beginning to take her, with promises of sweet nothings, like that man spoke of that fateful night...

But it didn’t take long for the being to find what it was looking for, the fact being apparent on its face. “Permit me to lay the matter before you in the simplest of terms...” It began again. “You are to meet your end, and another shall assume possession of your earthly vessel. Is that arrangement agreeable to your understanding?”

It took Emmeranne an embarrassingly amount of time to process the piece of information, but once she had, disbelief took her. On her death bed, this creature was “asking” for permission for another to take over her body. For what reason?

“Pray, sir, what need would you have of my body, as demonic as it is?”

“Your dream to be the emperor—that is all.”

The urge to sleep grew stronger, and despite the fire reaching her knees, the only pain Emmeranne felt was the growing hole in heart. One that would only be filled with the sound of Guinevere’s forgiveness. An impossible and selfish wish. Was it really alright, to give up? There was nothing left for her regardless. Despite knowing that, her body was the only thing she had. The only thing that was for Emmeranne A’er De La Clare.

“No—I—I do not wish to occupy the Imperial throne! Not any longer. My sole desire is but to behold her once more.”

The creature stilled, not expecting such a response, but clearly not surprised. It rolled what it Emmeranne deemed its eyes, and began looking to that place beyond her. Despite the pain in her legs and the fuzziness in her brain, she quickly realized what it was about to do, and so she began begging.

She wasn’t sure what she was begging for, as not even at the trial for her life did she beg. But her sobs and pleads fell to deaf ears.

“Ah, Emmeranne, I greatly fear that you shall never again lay eyes upon Guinevere.” The creature huffed.

“I bid you good night, Your Imperial Majesty.” The creature disappeared, and so did Emmeranne’s soul. There on the wooden cross did the deceased young maiden lay, tears escaping her dry eyes, thinking of only how much she desired a hug, as the Holy Empire’s citizens cheered and celebrated.