Black Browed Night

3rd Aeon - Fall of the Fae Chapter Two

As the one remaining free daughter to witness Queen Mab at her sick bed, the cold missing presence of them couldn't be more mourned for. My younger sisters were treasured by the people, justly so. But the trunk was succumbing to frailty, and a new leader would need to take Mab's place. Jumping through stone elements, ignoring the cold sour pinch of rock on my tongue and the suction of elemental jump taking me to Mab, I overlooked the hushed gust of whispers amongst her fairy court as I stalked through the palace that was once my home, many lifetimes ago. None remembered me. Sparing no glance to the decorative halls, the tamed elements of crystal and nature, I hunted down the old trunk's bower.

Of Queen Mab's three accomplished daughters, I was the least favoured. As eldest, the high demands could never meet expectations, I was meant to be or bear the Heir Apparent, if not for the favouritism of her upstart Champion taking my birthplace in Mab's heart. In second was dearest Paulina, who had left Illyria for the unknown mainland for some time. Paulina had yet to return home from her sacred mission. Most thought her dead, as I did. Mab always wondered if the physical presence of an Illyrian representative would strengthen any relationships that awaited beyond the horizon and past the stars' sight. Though the last letter Paulina had long turned frail and yellow with faded ink by its age, most had given up on her return. Especially given the scribbled riddle in a hand not belonging to my sister. It had taken seasons to steal it from Oberon's possession, but it was worth the death toll. For it prophesised my death.

To break Sycorax's slumber, a pure of heart will arrive and find Her sovereign essence, hidden by an alone buried mortal fool. Performed by Her divine Minion, She will awaken in Her new immolate form on the Eve of the Five Moons. All hail Sycorax, Queen hereafter.

For none of mundane born shall harm Her. Sycorax shall never be vanquished until the rival of Her Minion, wearing an identical mask and shared Illyrian blood will rise with heaven's artillery and shall come against Her.

A prophecy of death was never to be celebrated, but the clues of how I could end allowed for some assurances. Setebos and I were prepared for any play of fate's. We would beat the ordained stars.

There's nothing to fret over. All things can be broken. Setebos would reassure me. Clearly it is the Goodfellows that are our greatest threat.

The youngest of my sisters was sweetest Titania. Alongside her warrioress spirit, she was a prowess for nature magic. Of us all, Titania was the most beloved of the Fae and of me, pining each suitor down who dared challenged for her hand. No one could best her, and why should she settle for a weak husband? All had failed in an age, save for one vile, wretched one. Now, he was Titania's captor, until I could amass my forces to rescue her. That fatal time was fast approaching, spurring my magic to heightened sensitivity. Casting a few distracted flicks to the surrounding courtiers to muddle with their fragile mentality, some tripped unceremoniously to the mossy floor, others spun to dizzy bundles and one particular courtier chugged an entire tray of nut wine to combat their shock. The Fae were unaccustomed to the signs of advanced aging or of fleshy imperfections. Those unacceptable souls wore the rot that struck and were forever a reminder that the fae weren't immortal. Though my haggard frame was from a difference reason, the originality was the same. I was corrupted by the rot. Chuckling at my lack of involvement with that last trickery, a familiar scent breezed from the closest corridor of matured, smoked cider apples and spoiled gold.

"You always knew how to make an entrance, my dear." The husky timbre of Petruchio eased the trepidation in my core. At least in the least insufferable of places, there was still a friendly face. In fluid movements, Petruchio had skulked his way to my right side, mirroring my form step by step. Petruchio had served me well for over the age, few were as loyal, and too many were afraid. Though I had always paid that particular fae in advance for any such inconvenience. I marvelled at my kinsmen's nature, the opposite of the masses. Petruchio lived for wealth as I for queendom.