Parchment Embers

I stare at Victor. My breath hitches, my body tingles, I feel my head getting heavy. An invisible force is pushing on me; down into my seat, back against the chair. For a moment I want to run, another moment I want to cry, but I will not back down. I will not let him win. I cannot let him win. I breathe deeply through my nose, sit straight and place my hands on the desk. My eyes do not waver from his. I keep my voice calm, polite, and docile. I need him to trust me.

“I do not know what you are accusing me of.” 

Victor stands in front of my desk. He bends down, placing both hands on the desk. I stare at his hands. Hands that once held mine as we walked through the gardens. Hands that picked brush out of my hair after I took a nasty fall on one of our ventures through the woods. Hands that picked me up to ensure my safety. Victor clears his throat. My eyes bolt to his. 

“Is it an accusation when it is the truth?” His voice is calm though his eyes scan every inch of my face. 

“You think you are speaking the truth?” 

“I have spent months figuring out what happened here. You were clearly up to something but then you managed to distract me. You managed to catch my gaze and I cast many judgements aside. I didn’t want to believe it was you who could kill so many, but, Grimina, I have found the letters you have written. The letters from you to the doctor that talk about mishandling your stepmother’s pregnancy.” 

How can he stay so calm while he digs up every evil thing I have done? How can I avoid anyone else finding out what I have done? How can I dispose of Victor? He showed me genuine kindness and love for the first time. He told me that I could rule with a sincere heart and a generous hand. He connected with me on our love for people, animals, and aiding others’ hardships. He lo- He lied. He lied to get ahead of me. To distract me while he searched through my belongings for any clue to take me down. He doesn't love me and he does not favor me. 

Tears well as I realize how ridiculous it was to ever think someone could have a passion for my authentic self. I bow my head, staring at the table as I hold back the sob in my throat. I want to scream, to hit Victor, to throw everything in this room out the window and set the castle ablaze. I take a deep breath and look up at him. 

“This is why you courted me.” I whisper, the faintest chuckle escaping before my face falls.

Victor’s eyes swirl with various emotions; some I cannot place. There may be guilt and admission but something else lurks behind those murky green eyes.

“I do not know what you are talking about.” 

The flat, lifeless words cascade through my body like lava, boiling the blood surging through my veins. I bolt out of my chair and it falls onto the floor. My left hand firmly grips the desk and I point at him with my right hand. My hair falls forward beside my eyes but I can’t be bothered to adjust the strands. 

“You don’t know what I am talking about?” I bellow. “You! You wanted me to show you around. You wanted to talk about our families. We explored like children and laughed like the best of friends. Why must you lie to me? How many lies have you fed me to keep me softhearted?”

“How many lies have I fed you? You are lying to me as we speak!” Victor sneers. “How can you lie to my face?”

I slam my hand on the table. I snapped, “How can I lie to your face?” I can feel myself crumbling. I trusted him. The part of me that still trusts him is fighting to unleash the truth of my life. I cannot give him more evidence. I know I can’t give him more of myself but I want to tell him my truth; I want him to see me for who I am truly, to sympathize with me and to understand why I have become who I am. I do not know who I am anymore. Though I know who I must be in this moment to survive. 

I slowly lower my hand and clear my throat. My lips purse, my nostrils flare and my eyes roll. I meet Victor’s brutal glare, his jaw tense and his hands firmly gripping the desk. I shake my head at him, stand straight and walk over to the window behind me. I examine the stars shining brightly above the treetops. The moon is nearly full and casting light upon the midnight forest. I used to explore often at night when I had trouble sleeping. I would venture to a nearby cave, make a fire and watch the stars. It was often the only peace I could get. 

“Grimina, I apologize.” Victor’s soft tone brings me back to the present. “I don’t want to do this.” 

“They never want to hurt me.” I mutter. “But they always do. Everyone hurts me no matter how much I adapt myself to their taste.”

I glance over at him. Victor sighs and runs a hand through his hair. He sits himself halfway on the desk. 

“Tell me the truth of what happened. Maybe we can work this out.” 

“Work this out? You are funny to think this kingdom would rationally work anything out.”

“What do you mean? Surely they will serve justice appropriately.”

“Surely they will serve justice appropriately.” The kingdom always serves justice but I cannot call it appropriate. What is appropriate about forcing people to be homeless? Where is the justice in cutting a little girl’s hand off? How can I have faith in the council who would rather hang me in the gallows so I never rule over them? There has never been a situation handled appropriately. My life’s story is destined to be mishandled. 

“Do you think it is appropriate to cut off a starving child’s hand?” I whisper, my eyes averted to the floor. Victor stays silent. “What justice is there when you cut off a little girl’s hand?” I look up at him, burning tears brimming my eyes. “Answer me, Victor. Tell me that it is okay to take an ax to a young girl’s hand for trying everything she could to survive a miserable life. Whilst we sit in our castle and eat the best meats and fruits, children are starving on the streets in the town. Tell me that it is justified.” 

Tears spill over, burning my cheeks one by one. I lick my bottom lip and suck it in between my teeth. A heavy, thick silence fills the void between us. Guilt seeps from my palms, sorrow wraps itself around my heart, and the memory haunts my head like fog rolling through a cemetery. This is not ideal. I am supposed to be a strong, vicious ruler. I cannot let the memory of my past mistakes ruin who I have become. I am supposed to adhere to strict rules that we have put in place; I cannot cry over a girl breaking the rules and being punished, even if the punishment is not fair. 

“It may not be fair but you have the ability to change that.” Victor finally speaks. 

I shake my head, “I cannot. They will not respect me. They will see how weak I am.” 

“Tell me about the young girl.” 

“When I was younger I went to the town by myself,” I walked away from the window to the book shelf, picking up a book and examining it. “There was a young girl who appeared to be around the age of seven. She looked like a frail skeleton. Her skin was colorless, her hair was dull, matted strings, and her clothes were tattered. She was clearly without a home. Her eyes that should have been bright and curious were instead darkened with desperation. I watched as she walked up to a fruit stand. When the worker bent out of sight, she started filling a small burlap sack with whatever she could reach. She grabbed everything in a frenzy; she didn’t see the man stand upright and observe her theft. I ran between them as the stand owner was about to strike her with the back of his hand. The owner was angry, understandably so, and I offered to pay for everything she took. Stealing may be wrong but surviving is not. Then my father showed up. He had a meeting in the town and witnessed the event.” 

I paused, side eyeing Victor. His expression was unreadable. Of course. I turned back to examine the book in my hands. The aged yellow pages, the neat cursive writing. It was one of my family’s journals. 

I continued, “My father was hell-bent on punishing the girl for stealing. “Her intention was to provide no payment. You may have paid the stand owner, but the girl stole. Everyone must understand we are a distinguished kingdom. Law and order will be followed. A criminal will be punished for the crime; the girl is no exception.” He told me as I pleaded to leave the girl alone. She was young, she had no home, no one to teach her right from wrong. I tried to convince him to hire her to work off her debt. We could use another maid in training, someone who would grow up to be my child’s maid. He refused, calling me weak for being too kind. He said only a feeble-minded person would open their heart to a criminal.

“My father told me I must learn the difference between being fair and being a pushover. That afternoon he made me watch as guards carried the young girl into a chamber in the basement. She was violently shaking, sobbing and begging to let her go home to her big brother. That he was sick and she needed to help him get better before he visited her parents. She apologized profusely as they laid her on a table. One guard held her legs and the other held her arms sprawled on either side. Her doe eyes found me sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. Those eyes haunt me day and night. In my dreams, in my reflection, in the bowls of fruit sitting on the table every morning; all I can see is the tearful trepidation.

“My father strutted into the room, head held high and eyes determined to make a point. He grabbed an ax off the wall and walked over to the girl. I rushed over and threw myself over her. I yelled at him that he could not kill her for stealing some apples and pears. He told me that he would be cutting off the hand that stole. He told me, “Do not fret. We will cauterize the wound so she may, unfortunately, live.” I didn’t want to move. I wanted to rip her out of the guards’ hands and run for the mountains. My father told me he would execute both her and her brother if I did not move. I stood straight, holding the girl’s hand. I placed a hand on her cheek and forced her to look at me. I reassured her it would be over quickly and she would be back to her brother in no time.” I closed the book and placed it back on the shelf. I looked up at Victor, his jaw was clenched and his stare distant. 

I asked, “Have you ever smelled the burning of flesh? Have you ever watched so much blood drain from a seven year old child and wondered how her body can house that much blood? Do you wake in the night with a pool of sweat beneath you because the girl’s piercing screams haunt your dreams?” He swallowed a lump in his throat. “I didn’t think so.” I smiled weakly. 

“I do not believe you to be weak after enduring that.” 

“Stop lying to me. Stop getting in my head. Do not pity me.” 

Victor stepped forward and grabbed my hand in his. 

“I am not lying to you, Mina. Though I do pity you.”

“Do not call me that.” I yank my hand away. “Do not lie about your affections towards me. You are only doing this to catch me like a mouse in a cat’s trap.”

“I am not.” He insists, stepping closer.

“You are!” I scream, pushing him away. “You have lied this entire time to get information from me. You,” I point at him. “You are just as bad as everyone else. You are the same as my father, my mother, my stepmothers, the council, and the town. I will not listen to your words any longer. I am leaving.” 

I push my way past him, bounding towards the door. My hand lands on the knob but I am pulled away before I can open the door. I whip around and come face to face with Victor.

“You will not leave until we figure out how to handle the situation. You will sit in that chair and tell me what happened. We are not leaving this room until we discuss this.”

Victor’s grip on my arm tightens. He steps behind me and pushes me towards the chair. I apprehensively take a seat, crossing my arms against my chest. He pulls up another chair and sits across from me. I know I can’t get out of here but I can’t tell him what I did. I cannot give him the satisfaction of being correct and sending me to the guillotine. I refuse to back down now and lose everything I have worked towards. 

“Talk.” He says flatly. 

Fire rises from my chest and through my throat. My vision darkens, my body goes numb and I feel fire ants crawling under my skin. Anger once protected me but now rage consumes me. It travels through my veins, storming through every inch of my body; from my skin to my soul, rage consumes me from the inside out. My life flashes before my eyes. The young girl getting her hand axed off, sobbing into my chest after her flesh is burned together. My mother on her deathbed, wishing for me to become as strong as she was so I may run the kingdom. My stepmothers who conspired against me and the generational laws that are millenia old. My father is in the castle’s basement prisons, still laughing at me as if I did not put him there. 

“Mina. Tell me.” Victor’s voice is distant and echoes through my head. 

My heart beats violently from my chest to my head. Everything feels foggy. I can see myself struggling to keep it together. Nails digging into my arms until blood prickles and flows down my arms. Tears gather around my eyelashes. I bite the inner corner of my lip until warm iron fills the cracks of my teeth. My foggy eyes travel across my desk, observing the items laid about. Quills, ink, parchment, two glasses half full with water, a glass of amber liquor, candles and a lantern. Everything centers around me and I focus on the lantern; my way out. 

In a frenzy I reach for the lantern and throw it at the bookcase. Victor jumps to his feet, puzzled and startled by my outburst. I throw everything off the desk; one by one sheets of paper drift onto the floor, ink stains the rug, quills float. Water and liquor spill onto Victor, the glasses shattering at his feet. He follows my line of vision to the only thing that hasn’t been thrown off the desk: the candelabra. He rushes towards me but I am faster. I snatch the candelabra in my hand, holding it out of his reach. 

He throws his hands up defensively, eyes wide and wearisome. 

“Grimina, think about what you are doing.”

Smoke swirls behind him, a subtle amber light reflecting around the room. I grin at Victor as I see the books catch fire. Who knew peace would follow flames? Victor turns around in a panic.

He hisses, “Shit.”

While he’s distracted I make my way to the door. I quietly open the door, standing in the doorway and watch Victor contemplate every reason he decided to stay and investigate. 

“My dear Victor,” I coo. He looks around the room until his eyes land on me. “I think only of what I am doing. Every blunder, every fault. I always think of my actions.” 

With those last words I toss the candelabra onto the rug. I step back into the hallway, slamming the door shut. 

Darkness surrounds me, moonlight being the only source of light as I run away.