Chapter Text
Once upon a time, in mid spring, a lovely Queen was admiring the flowers in bloom in the castle garden when she noticed something odd. A rare rose was growing in defiance to the ones surrounding it. It was a startling shade of blue, the color of both the sky and ocean alike. So different from the blood red of its brethren.
In a newly blossoming tree nearby, a beautiful black raven looks on as the Queen gazes at the blue rose. Reaching for it, she pricks her finger and three drops of blood fall only to mix with a puddle of rainwater leftover from the early morning rain. Somewhat startled, the Queen draws back and gently rests her hand upon her flat stomach.
And because the red of her blood mingled with the water beneath her feet, she thought, ‘If only I had a child as free spirited and lively as the river, eyes as blue as the rose, hair the golden color of the sun, and all the cleverness of the raven.
The Queen sighed, and continued on her way through the garden, hoping with all her might that the gods would bless her with a child.
—————
Only a few short years later, the Queen gets her wish. She is in her chambers, surrounded by midwives and physicians as her husband, the King, paces the corridors anxiously outside her door. Everyone is bustling around her, calling out instructions to one another and to her, but she does not listen, cannot hear them.
Soon, the air is filled with the first cries of a newborn babe. The Queen holds her arms out for her child. A midwife hands the now bundled baby to the new mother. With shaky hands, she pulls the blanket back from the baby’s face.
A boy. She has a son.
She sends the midwife off to find the King. And when he steps foot into his wife’s chambers once more, it’s to see her holding their son in her arms. He looks at her, notices she is pale and shaken, but smiling so brightly, so radiantly. The King slowly walks to the bed and looks down at his heir. His wife hands their son over to him, and the King gently cradles the boy in his arms as he turns away towards the fire. The child’s downy hair is a golden blond, the father notes, and his eyes the same bright blue of all newborns.
They name him Anders.
—————
Young Anders was adored throughout the kingdom as much for his defiant spirit as for his beauty.
He was just as his mother had dreamed all those years ago in the castle gardens. His hair was the color of the sun, a bright gold gleaming in the light. And his eyes were a stunning shade of blue, almost identical to that of the rose that had so entranced his mother before. He was a lively boy, so full of laughter and love and hope. He was carefree, yet sensitive to those around him. And he was clever. All his tutors praised him and predicted that his reign would be all the more prosperous for it.
But he was still just a boy, a child. And all children form friendships with their peers and run around and create havoc. Anders befriended a young girl, the daughter of Lord Evans. Her name was Dawn. She was of age with the Prince and just as blonde as he, though her blue eyes were lighter than his own. They became the best of friends, and together they went on all kinds of adventures within the castle walls and the woods surrounding it.
One day, the children were gallivanting in the woods near the village, when they stumbled upon an injured magpie. They crept closer to the bird and noticed that it’s little wing was broken. It was twitching in a puddle and frantically began thrashing the closer Anders and Dawn got to it.
“Pick it up, Dawn,” Anders whispers to his companion. Dawn looks to her friend for a moment, then braces herself and reaches down for the little bird but quickly steps back in alarm when it begins to wildly flap its wings at her.
“It’s dying. It doesn’t want to be touched,” she says quietly.
The Prince ignores her and approaches the bird himself. He kneels slowly, and then reaches out and gently strokes the magpie’s feathers down its back. The bird calms down enough for Anders to scoop it up and cradle it against his chest.
Both he and Dawn fail to notice another magpie high in a tree, looking on at the events happening below curiously.
Anders runs, all the while gently holding the injured bird against his chest. Dawn quickly follows in his wake. The children sprint through the village that lays before the castle the young Prince calls home. The sun is shining and the meadows and fields are green, but the children pay no attention to their surroundings as they hurry on their way.
“Hurry, Dawn! Hurry!” Anders shouts behind him.
The waves of the ocean crash beside them as they run across the dunes, the sand gleaming gold in the sunlight, when they see the castle gates up ahead. Anders and Dawn dash past their favorite apple tree inside the castle grounds as they head for the royal wing.
Anders bursts into his parents’ chambers, the bird still clutched in his small hands. The King and Queen turn to face the two children at the door. A physician and his assistant are in attendance, looking over the Queen. Anders and Dawn are far too young to notice the sad look in the eyes of the Queen or the heartbroken expression of the King.
The young Prince holds the magpie up for his mother’s inspection. “We found it in the woods,” he says breathlessly.
The Queen gently takes the bird from her son’s hands and, after inspecting the injury, binds its wing with a ribbon from her hair. The King looks on sadly. Dawn watches from the doorway, only now just noticing how frail the Queen looks and how her hands shake slightly as she handles the bird.
“It will heal with time,” the Queen says softly, but Anders’ eyes rest solely on the little magpie in her pale hands.
“I’ll look after it,” he tells her. His parents look on, hiding their pain behind a smiling mask for the sake of their only child.
“You possess a rare beauty, my darling,” the Queen tenderly caresses her son’s cheek. “Promise me you will never lose it, for you will need its strength when you are King.”
—————
A few months have passed since the finding and rescuing of the injured magpie. True to his word, Anders had taken care of the little bird with the help of Dawn. Once deemed fit to fly, the children took it back into the words where they found it and released it. They stood side by side as they watched the magpie gracefully fly away, high into a tree and greet its friend.
Now back at the castle, the two are sitting in their apple tree, each attempting to grab an apple to snack on. Anders picks a juicy red apple and offers it to Dawn. He holds it out to her and nods. And just as she’s about to take it from his hand, he pulls it away and takes a bite out of it, all the while grinning. Dawn playfully shoves him out of the tree but loses her balance as well and they fall to the ground in a tangle of limbs, giggling despite their scrapped knees and elbows.
“You are so dumb, Andy!” Dawn laughs.
“At least I’m not ugly like you!” Anders quickly scrabbles to his feet and runs off, Dawn chasing after him, both children laughing gleefully.
—————
In his private study, the King stands at the window, watching the children chasing after one another below. He sighs heavily, and turns back to his friend Lord Evans.
“My son will need your daughter’s friendship now more than ever before, my friend,” he says sadly. “And I will need yours.”
Lord Evans nods, and clasps a hand to the King’s shoulder. “We are here for you, both of you.”
Silence once more fills the room, heavy and sad. And neither man is willing to break it just yet. Instead, they turn as one back to the window and watch as their children tussle and wrestle and play. Happiness would be in short supply soon, and both fathers wished for their children to feel it for just awhile longer.
—————
The following winter is the most bitter in memory, and not just the weather itself. Anders’ mother passed away after suffering from an illness for many months.
The King and Anders walk through the garden following the funeral. The blue rose is gone with the frost and the snow that blankets the ground. The King has his arm wrapped around his son’s shoulders, both are grieving. A single tear rolls down Anders’ face and the other mourners move aside, feeling what he feels as they see the open pain on the young boy’s face.
—————
A year has passed, and yet the King is still inconsolable and grieving. Taking advantage of this grief, dark forces begin gathering on the kingdom’s borders. Lord Evans has convinced the King of the necessity of dealing with such threats and they ready the army for war.
Once prepared, they set off. The army on horseback race through the forest, the King in the lead and beside him is Lord Evans. They slow down as they come to the battlefield, across the way are horseman in a line. The riders are silhouetted against the sun, faceless warriors, a vast shadow army. The King and his friend glance at each other warily.
“From what hell does this army hail?” Lord Evans sounds nervous.
“I cannot tell you, but I can say that it is a hell they shall revisit soon!” The King lets out a loud war cry, kicks his horse and rides forward with courage as he no longer cares what may happen to him in doing so.
The two armies race towards the center of the battlefield and towards war. When they clash, it is expected to hear all metallic ringing, sword against sword; horses whinnying, men shouting in victory and crying in their death throes. In a word, it is supposed to be brutal. However, the King raises his sword and swings it at one of the Shadow Warriors and it shatters like glass. He looks around him and sees the same is happening to the others. The Shadow Warriors, when struck, are shattering and evaporating like mist.
Just moments before the battlefield was loud and furious, but now it is quiet. The King and Lord Evans watch in amazement as the Shadow Army just melts away, dissolving into the morning mist that surrounds them. All that is left behind is a caged prison wagon, the spoils of victory over the unholy army that they had defeated. The King moves to the wagon with apprehension as he isn’t sure how it even got there. As he nears, the King dismounts his horse and walks closer, even daring to glance inside.
There’s a woman, her face hidden behind a veil, cowering in the corner. The King stares at her through the bars of the cage, then steps back and breaks the lock with an almighty blow of his sword.
“You have nothing to fear from me, miss,” he says gently as he enters the wagon. “You are now free from the unholy army that has trapped you.”
Lord Evans watches from outside of the cage as his King kneels before the unknown woman. He’s a bit wary and suspicious. Who is she and why was she captured and imprisoned by a mysterious army of shadows? This didn’t sit right with him but he knew better than mentioning his fears to the King.
“What is your name, my lady?”
The woman turns at the voice of the King. For a moment he absently wonders if it is his beloved wife and Queen hiding behind the veil. Slowly, he lifts the veil from her face and freezes. It is not his wife, but the most beautiful woman he has yet to lay eyes on. She has long, dark brown hair and wide, beautifully shaped blue eyes. Her skin is as pale as cream and looks to be as smooth as silk.
“My name is Michele, sire,” she answers.
The King is speechless, tongue tied, as he looks upon the face of what must surely be an angel. He was indeed so struck by her beauty that, for the first time since the death of his wife, he has forgotten his grief and broken heart.
His gaze on her is so intense, that Michele looks away as it triggers a flashback of her childhood.
—————
Michele was a beautiful child, but poor as she and her family were gypsies. She’s holding a small hand mirror, staring back at her own reflection. Her mother, a gypsy woman donned in tattered clothing, moves the mirror closer so Michele can have a better look at her face.
“This,” she starts. “This is all that can save you, Michele.”
The young Michele looks away from her mother, distracted by the shouts and uproar outside their wagon. Unbeknownst to her, her brother is quickly making his way as fast as his little legs can carry him through the snow to the wagon.
Attempting to keep her daughter’s attention, Michele’s mother snaps her fingers in her face. “Michele!”
—————
The King had taken her with him to the castle, where he had her cleaned up and dressed in clothes fit for a Queen. It had taken no time at all for him to fall in love with the mysterious woman. His wife all but forgotten as he gazes upon her face.
Michele sits still as stone as the servants dress and prepare her for her wedding to the King. She looks even more beautiful as her cheeks are powdered, eyebrows plucked, and lips painted. She stares straight ahead, unblinking and mind elsewhere.
“You’re so beautiful.”
A small voice snaps her attention back to the present. She turns only to see Anders standing behind her, reverential. Michele’s face softens as she looks at the face of the little boy. She beckons him to her and holds out her hand.
“Come, child,” she says softly.
The handmaidens withdraw as Anders steps forward. Only one handmaiden remains and she is weaving flowers into Michele’s long dark hair.
“That is kind, child. Especially when it is said that yours is the face of true beauty in this kingdom,” she says as she holds his smaller hand in hers. Anders eyes widen, but he says nothing. Michele gives him a warm smile in return. “Would you like to dress up like your father and marry one day?” When he nods, she adds, “I hope you will invite me?”
Enchanted by his new friend, Anders smiles. “Of course I will!”
“I know it is difficult, child. When I was your age, I lost my mother as well.”
“You did?” he asks sadly.
“Yes,” she begins. “A King tore me from her arms, dressed me in lace and pearls, and stole my innocence.”
The once bright smile that had lit up Anders’ face begins to fade as his confusion grows. Michele gently strokes his cheeks, almost like his own mother used to. “I can never take your mother’s place, but I feel that you and I are bound,” she places a hand over her heart, “I feel it here.”
Anders copies her gesture, and touches his own heart, then smiles at Michele. It would be a touching moment, but something in the young Prince’s face, the way his smile lights up the room, gives Michele pause though. She decides to ignore it for now and continue in her preparations.
Soon, looking absolutely stunning in her white and gold dress, Michele is walking down the center aisle of the cathedral. All the nobles in the land are present to witness her wedding to their King. She looks at them, on either side of her, and they are all smiling and nodding in appreciation. Michele notices that they aren’t looking at her though, and she follows their gaze behind her to Anders, who is holding the folds of silk from her wedding dress. He looks up at Michele, adoringly.
She reaches the altar and the King smiles at her, he is the happiest and luckiest man alive. The wedding proceeds, and Michele is nearly lost within herself during the ceremony.
Once in the royal chambers some hours later, Michele has come back to herself as her new husband lies on the bed. He is drunk on both lust and wine. His eyes are fixed on her, in a sheer silk nightgown standing near the fireplace, goblet in hand. She starts moving slowly towards the bed, her eyes never leaving his, seductive. He licks his lips impatiently.
“Who are you?” he asks huskily, still gazing at her lustfully.
She cocks her head to the side slightly and answers, “I am the bane of Kings.” She crawls onto the bed and rolls him onto his back before straddling him and offering him her goblet. “Drink, my lord.”
The King takes the goblet from her delicate hands and drains it greedily. He then tosses it to the side as he gropes her body.
“Now you are mine.” Michele’s eyes are gleaming in the light of the fire across the room. The King attempts to playfully wrestle her off him but she grabs his hands and easily holds him in place. “I will destroy you.”
“Indeed you will, my Queen,” the King says, enjoying the power play.
Michele rips open his shirt then bends down and captures his lips in a kiss. She pulls back and looks into his heavily lidded eyes. “As my people were destroyed, as my family was destroyed, as I would have been destroyed.”
The King is confused, and his face shows his sudden discomfort. But Michele takes no heed and continues with her story.
“If a woman can stay young for eternity, no man can resist her, and the world is then hers to do as she sees fit.”
The King’s eyes widen in surprise as he begins to choke. He struggles for breath, slowly turning red. “What…? I don’t…”
“First, my King, I will take your life. After that, I will take your throne.” She pulls out a dagger from beneath the sheets and plunges it through the King’s heart. Michele smiles as his blood spills from his body and over the dagger in her hands. She gracefully slides off of him and the bed and rinses her hands in the basin of cold water by the bed.
She then leaves the chambers and enters the halls where there are several guards lined up. She moves past them, then turns to address them, “The King has laid down his sword for the night.”
The guards do not seem to hear her as they are all entranced by her beauty. She smiles devilishly and strides away, disappearing around a corner.
—————
Michele’s mother takes her hand in hers and holds it over a bowl of white liquid. “You must trust me, my darling,” she says and she nicks Michele’s wrist with a small blade. They watch as three drops of blood falls into the bowl, red swirling with the white.
Just then, Michele’s brother Colin bursts through the door. “They’re coming! The King’s men!” He is out of breath, chest heaving and face red from the exertion of running through the snow.
“Drink!” Michele’s mother thrusts the bowl into her daughter’s hands. “Drink! And with it comes the ability to steal youth and beauty from whomever you wish!” Michele chokes down the mixture as she listens to her mother. “For that is your only protection in this world, my love.”
Colin steps forward, “I will protect my sister!”
Their mother reaches out and brushes a lock of hair from her son’s forehead. She then closes her eyes, speaking an incantation. When she opens them once more, it is to look at her son. “So it shall be, Colin.”
—————
Michele makes her way to the front of the castle. She crosses the courtyard, a lantern held aloft. The portcullis opens and dark figures emerge from the shadows, entering the castle grounds upon her command. Leading them is a sharp-eyed man who looks at Michele devotedly.
“Welcome, brother,” Michele smiles.
The invaders are sweeping through the halls and corridors of the castle, running through the King’s soldiers with their swords.
—————
Anders is asleep in his bed in his chambers when he hears the ringing of a bell. At first he thinks he must be dreaming, until he hears the cries and screams of alarm. He sits up curiously and climbs out of bed. He exits his room only to see panic and chaos. Courtiers and soldiers alike are running in a desperate attempt to save their lives. Anders stares, confused and scared, and then runs. He rushes to his father’s chambers, but sees Michele at the end of the hall. He hurries towards his stepmother, relieved. That is until he notices his father’s lifeless body sprawled out on his bed.
Colin and his knights appear, flanking Michele. Betrayal and shock sink in after a moment, and tears well in his eyes, but Anders flees. He races to the courtyard where Lord Evans knights are struggling to hold back Michele’s invaders. Anders hurries outside amidst the mayhem, dazed by the sight of the battle before him. He then sees Dawn pull free of her father’s guards and run towards him.
The children hold each other, and strong arms reach down and lift them each onto the backs of different horses. Lord Evans and his personal guard try to ride out of the castle grounds before the portcullis closes and traps them inside. The Lord rides under with Dawn, and his bodyguard attempts to follow when an arrow from Colin strikes him in the back. Both he and Anders are thrown from the horse.
“Father!” Dawn shouts. “The Prince!”
But the portcullis is down, separating Dawn from Anders, her best friend. Anders rushes to the portcullis, looking beseechingly at Dawn, small hands gripping the iron bars hard. The last thing she sees is Anders struggling in the arms of Colin, being hauled back into the castle, as her father kicks his horse into a run.
—————
Michele casually walks through the castle, toppling statues and vases alike, and tearing portraits from the walls as she passes. She’s cleaning house, as it were. What with the King dead, she’s the sole ruler of the realm, and she so detests the decor here. She wrinkles her slim nose in disgust at the small portrait of the previous Queen at her feet. Michele steps on it, grinding the heel of her shoe into it for good measure, before continuing on her way.
She walks into a large chamber at the top of the castle. Skylights in the ceiling reveal the light of the moon and it pools on the cold ground. The new Queen stands in the middle of the room and admires her new sanctuary. Before he had been murdered, the King had the room outfitted to Michele’s exact tastes. She turns as a few of her soldiers enter the chamber, carrying a large object between them. They set it down on a stone dais at the head of the room before scurrying back out into the corridor at the sharp look from their Queen.
A beautiful and ornate mirror stands before her, trimmed with gold and diamonds. Michele stares at it for a moment before she begins to chant.
“Mirror, mirror, on the wall
Who is the fairest of them all?”
A brief silence is all that greets her, but then the surface of the mirror begins to ripple. A liquid-like substance the color of mercury spills onto the floor where it then reforms into the shape of a man if the man were covered in a sheet. His body is a veil of reflective silver but his face is a distorted version of Michele’s own.
“It is you, my Queen,” the Mirror Man’s voice booms around the empty chamber. “Yet another kingdom has fallen to your glory! Tell me, is there no end to your power and beauty?”
Michele grins in response and moves to the center of the room. She throws her head back and laughs. The laugh is equal parts sinister and beautiful, and completely bone chilling.
—————
Child Michele screams as she is ripped from the arm’s of her sobbing mother. Young Colin throws himself into the fray but is backhanded to the ground by the soldier holding his sister. Their mother moves forward, ready to attack and rescue her children, but the guard holding Michele pulls out a dagger and places it to the young girl’s throat, stopping her mother in her tracks. Michele is dragged away from her family and tossed onto the back of a horse.
“But be warned, Michele: By fairest blood it is done and only by fairest blood can it be undone!”
Michele looks back at her mother only to see her and the other gypsies cut down by the swords of the soldiers. Colin struggles free and chases after the King’s men as they gallop away with his sister.
—————
Michele stands at the top of the stairs overlooking the courtyard where all the wedding guests and nobles stand, held still by guards with swords and daggers drawn.
“It is so kind of you all to stay,” Michele grins wickedly.
“What shall we do with these, my Queen?” the general asks, holding a woman still by her hair.
Michele eyes the noblemen and guests, her shrewd blue eyes sweeping left to right. Their own eyes beg for mercy, but none shall be had that night.
“To the sword.”
Gasps and screams meet her pronouncement and the guards move the guests away. Michele notices Colin is off to one side, his own dagger at the neck of Anders, who is staring defiantly at the Queen.
“Colin!” Michele shouts. Her brother stops and turns back to her. Michele stares at the little boy momentarily as she is not sure what to do with him. “Lock him away. One never knows when royal blood may be of value, my brother.”