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tw: death, murder, blood
She wasn't natural.
That much was clear. The blood surrounded her, almost flowing in the air. Slowly, evilly. Her dark hair floated around her face, and her eyes were pure white.
"Monster!" someone said faintly, "Witch!"
She smiled at them, calm, calculated, yet terrifying all the same. Like they were children who needed to be taught a lesson.
"Try to burn me. Try to kill me. Try it."
No one moved for a moment. Then a person pushed through the crowd, looking around hesitantly.
She tilted her head at them, almost inquisitively. "Yes?"
They glanced back for a moment, then turned to face her again. "We don't fear you."
The woman pursed her lips with disappointment. "What a pity. I suppose I'll have to show you exactly why you should, then."
With a snap of her fingers, the young person crumbled to stone and ash. The dust scattered in the wind, a wind that hadn't been there a moment before.
"Anyone else?" she asked, one eyebrow raised.
After a long pause of silence- fear-filled silence, she thought with satisfaction- she said. "I'll take that as a no. Goodbye then, Cowards."
Then they all became frozen in place. She walked among the statues, before reaching the one at the very back. The king of these cowards, face turned to stone.
"Oh, darling," the woman said softly, "If only you hadn't used me. If only you hadn't thrown me away like some worthless toy."
She turned towards the rest of them as her eyes turned their normal shade of dark brown, and her hair fell to her shoulders.
"Witch. Monster. Sorceress," she laughed, "No. Queen."
She sat down on the throne, plucking the stone crown off the king's head. Unbeknownst to her, a young girl walked among the statues as well. Bravely, or stupidly.
The girl did not resemble the woman. In fact, she looked more like her stone father.
"Mother." she said cautiously, walking gently and carefully.
The woman looked her over. "I wouldn't call you my daughter, Princess."
"I am your daughter," the girl continued on as if she hadn't heard what the woman had said. Foolish girl.
"And who is your father?" the woman said quietly. Something in her tone showed that she knew exactly who he was.
"You know who he is." the girl said, pointing to him. "You hate him. You hate me."
The woman scowled, "Indeed I do."
"You killed my father."
"I didn't kill him, dearest. In fact, he's quite immortal now."
"You're evil."
"You could say that. But I prefer 'creative' or 'brilliant'."
"Don't you remember?" she asked, tears starting to form in her eyes, "Don't you remember?"
"The early days in the castle, when he treated me well, when we sat in the sun and listened to birds sing? Of course I do."
The girl walked right up to the queen as she softly said, "No. Don't you remember me?"
The Queen scoffed, "You were barely a month old when he threw me out,"
She didn't notice the blood falling from her eyes, in place of tears. She didn't notice the sadness she was feeling; because she was numb.
"You're crying," the girl said.
"I am not!" the woman exclaimed, standing up. "I do not cry."
The Queen wiped away the tears, leaving streaks of red on her cheeks and hands.
"I do not cry." The woman said again. "Nor do I have mercy on people who gave no mercy to me."
She started to snap her fingers, but the girl's hand shot out, holding the woman's wrist.
"I am sorry,"
The words were quiet, and the Queen did not understand them.
"I don't believe I understand," she said harshly.
"I am sorry that father threw you out, that they called you a witch, that they hurt you,"
"No you are not," the woman said, "You are not."
"I am," her daughter insisted.
Witch. Monster. Sorceress.
If the queen hadn't turned away and seen the statue of the king, she would have almost believed her.
"You are only trying to weaken me!" the Queen hissed, and she wrenched her hand away, snapping her fingers and turning her daughter to stone.
The girl went silently, with a look of disappointment but surprisingly enough, with little fear. The Queen sat down contentedly.
She did not see the gray on her hand as it spread up to her wrist, and then her elbow, and then her arm was gone, and in a minute, only a minute, the queen was also a statue.
The other statues would stay immortal and breathe underneath the stone encasements, but the queen screamed with pain and fury, smashing and thrashing. She was trapped and broken and because of that, her fate was the same of the young person who had dared to defy a few moments earlier. She crumbled to dust and stone and ash.
