Time is slipping from me. It's been hours (days) since Mare chose no one, not even Cal, over a future with me. A bloodstained future, but one where her head would never be on the table. Not one where Evangeline planned to claim it.
She is nothing. Mother soothes my forehead, nestling the crown into place. Soon she will be less.
"A corpse." My lip curls. "Laid side by side with my brother's."
"We can bury them separately."
"Don't bury her." The words fall too fast, water flowing through a drain. My nails dig into my palm as the crown slips. "Burn her body, and give me the ashes."
Mother arches a brow. "What do you plan to do with them?"
My throat bobs. "Breathe them. Choke on them. Set them on fire again." There's no point in lying. There never was. "I think they'll make me bleed."
"No need for that." Mother drapes a cape over my shoulders. "She's not worth your tears, let alone your blood. Remember how easy it was to fool her?"
She was so free with her love, so warm as she hugged me that night after the balcony. My fingers ache for her wrist, the tender skin that used to think I was brave and kind and good. Better than Cal, she said.
I will never make the mistake of loving you again.
"Get rid of her." The words are sharp, too sharp to wield against my own mother. I wait for her scolding, the slither of blue eyes in the back of my skull. But it never comes.
Mother takes hold of my hand and squeezes it tight. "After the execution."
She makes me dream.
It's easier when you're asleep. Mother runs a hand along my arm, bidding my eyes closed. Your subconscious is more accessible.
But my subconscious is full of nightmares, worse than the faceless shadows which chased me as a babe. They have words to hurt me now, words that batter and bruise as no beast ever could. Monster: what she called me. Queen: what she could've been. Alone: what she wants me to be.
Pain makes you strong.
Pain lets you hurt her as she hurt you. Pain makes you realize who your allies are. Pain kills the parts of you too soft for this world. And pain will set you free of her.
Trust me.
I weep. Lay out the memories for her to pick at, to dissect until all the rot is plucked away. Yet the more she tugs, the more I cling. My mind grips her tight, a doll taken too soon, fighting Mother with every poke and prod. Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
She is not here. Not really. The real Mare wouldn't be so speechless, so calm as I approach. She lays on the bed and lets me touch her, tender brushes of our limbs too nervous to truly meet. I burn from the inside out, pressing kisses to her collarbone as I pin her beneath me. I am both chained and chains, binding her as best I can, tying knots against my chest until neither of us can breathe. I want to suffocate on her.
Son.
She's killing me.
I won't let her.
Mother never lies, not to me. Yet I cannot help but doubt her, to see deceit in every promise, no matter how small. Betrayal follows me like an abusive friend, polishing its knives until the gleam blinds all else.
