Chapter Text
The Fair Lady’s funeral lasts for days. People come and go, offering words to someone who will never hear them. The harbingers, now down to ten, perhaps even nine if the missing Balladeer is to be considered. They enter the chamber, expressions ranging from stone cold to slight amusement. They stay, talk for a while, then leave.
Finally come the final hour of the last day of mourning. A large bell rings, the sounds reflecting off the walls of the vast chamber. The halls are empty save for one lone figure. The final visitor. The sound of heels against a cold marble floor reverberate throughout the room. The figure seems to be almost gliding across the room, however if anyone were to hear those footsteps they would undeniably tell you of how they seemed to carry the weight of the world.
The Tsaritsa places a hand on La Signora’s final resting place. Tracing the intricate engravings of the coffin, she speaks to the dead.
”My dear Rosalyne. From a young age, you’ve known the cold. These lands covered in ice and snow were the ones you called home. Yet, amidst the eternal winter, you chose to burn. Beautifully, elegantly. Together with your butterflies, you would dance for me. Your flames, they were brilliant. Yet I could never tell you.
This loathed heart of mine, forever incased in ice. I always thought it ironic. That she who tried to love everyone would end up being unable to love. The thawing warmth of spring never came to this foolish queen of yours. Yet despite everything, you decided to burn for my sake.
My daughter, do you regret it? In the end, only ashes remained. You may have called me pure, but the truth is a sinner’s hands will always be stained with blood. I hope you find it in yourself to forgive me. Or better yet, do not forgive me at all. Hate me, resent me, for it is what I deserve.
Rosalyne, Rosalyne. How I wish to shed tears for you. How I wish to send you off with the love you deserve. In the end, I have failed you again.”
The bells ring once again. It is time to draw the curtains. She brings her hands together, almost as if in prayer. She whispers a final few words, before stepping out into never-ending blizzard.
Unbeknownst to most, within the chamber a single crimson butterfly lands on the Fair Lady’s coffin. It flutters its wings, once. Then, the palace is enveloped in ice. The metal gates to the palace swing shut, never to be opened again.