The People's Empress Noir

"Former Empress Yullia Millicente de la Noir."

The judge cleared his throat.

The crowds of townspeople outside the hall held their breaths in anticipation, even though they all knew the likely verdict.

The ragged figure chained to the ground raised her head at the address, unflinching.

It had been six months since the twenty-year Old War. The twenty-year-old empress had been overthrown under the excuse of forsaking the people, and now looked anything but the regal seat she had occupied just a month ago.

All because of one mistake.

One very big mistake.

"You are found guilty under the charges of forsaking the people, knowingly sacrificing thousands under the greedy guise of power, grand treason, and failing the land of Noir."

The judge paused, his powdery wig fluttering in the wind as his expression contorted.

He spat. "You have failed your empire."

It was technically illegal for judges to show any sort of bias, stated in the laws Yullia herself had established.

But now, the peasants cheered while watching the judge vehemently disgrace their former leader, some of them even wiping away tears of joy.

A war veteran, scarred by fire, even stripped off his shirt and swung it around in a circle as the judge cleared his throat.

"Any last words?" he asked, almost malevolently.

The chained figure in the center, already pelted by various thrown vegetables and rocks, rose.

Jeers.

Boos.

A rotten egg.

Shards of glass.

In the midst of it all, the indifferent Yulia blinked.

She was dressed in dirty rags, and looked no different than the beggars on the street. Her pale face was ravaged with scars, but her sapphire-like eyes that had once looked from above, on the throne, were emotionless.

Her regal bearing as an Empress was still there.

Once, the crowds had cheered her name as she brought in victory, after victory, after victory.

She had defeated the neighboring Blanc Empire in the war, established the Themis Pavilion and introduced a justice system, had helped trade between continents flourish, and had invoked fear and respect in her people. Everyone praised the Empress Yullia as a leading figure in history.

But because of one single error, her name was tarnished and those who had respected her now loathed her, while those who had feared her now disrespected her.

The higher you are, the harder you fall.

There would be no Future Yullia.

Empress Yullia de la Noir was now a criminal.

At twenty years old, she had caused the Empire's rise and fall from grace.

"They say Themis is blind." Yullia's mouth quirked, a show of emotion that caused the commoners to die down in shock. She had never shown a slice of emotion as Empress.

"And that you either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain."

A pause.

"Well then, I must atone for my sins."

Yullia picked up a shard of glass and smiled. As she drew it close to her neck, the crowds surged forward.

Those who came closer could see her tears.

"Arriville, Noira."

The Noir word that meant goodbye, sorry, and thank you all in one. It could never be translated, but it was only said when one had made a grave error.

Sorry, as I have failed you. Goodbye, as your trust in me has left. Thank you, for everything.

An abstract concept, an abstract word that only existed in the empire that was Noir.

A deft, fluid motion.

With that, Former Empress Yullia Millicente de la Noir left the world.

It had been ten years before the truth had been discovered. Yullia's private papers had been leaked after the mages dug them out of the collapsed cavern.

A shocking discovery.

Empress Yullia's diary.

Dear Future Yullia,

I turned twenty years old. Father says I will soon have the seat of Empress. I am the youngest in history, according to him. I hope I won't let the country down. I had braised ham for dinner. It was delicious, and I've asked Anne to cook it again at my coronation. I hope it'll go well.

Dear Future Yullia,

I've been doing well. I've just finished establishing the Pavilion a few days ago. I saw a boy there. I hope it isn't love at first sight. An Empress cannot love, for a leader must love only their people.

Dear Future Yullia,

I hope the war will end soon. I cannot watch Noir suffer any longer, as much as I'm trying to improve it. I'm trying as an Empress. But what will happen if I try as Yullia?

Dear Future Yullia,

Father has left the world. Brother has also just been killed in battle. I think I am in a state of grief. But I have a diplomatic envoy coming tomorrow, and I cannot slip up. The people always need to come first.

Dear Future Yullia,

I am left with a terrible choice. Sacrifice twenty thousand to end a war that can kill millions, or continue? I do not want suffering. I do not want to fail Noir.

Dear Future Yullia,

I have decided. I must choose the lesser evil. I have ordered everyone to prepare for a coup. The Pavilion boy has also passed away. The nobles around me care for nothing but their personal gain. I cannot let Noir get in their hands. I hope the people will understand my decision.

Dear Future Yullia,

I have just finished my braised ham. For the first time in seven years, it does not remind me of Father.

I realize I am forgetting my Mother's face.

Is it because of stress?

Dear Future Yullia,

I am about to make my decision. I have completely forgotten my Mother's face, now. I can only look at the fireplace painting from time to time. Father is also fading away.

It is alright. I must lead Noir to victory.

I was wrong. It wasn't twenty thousand, it was a hundred. We were trapped. Their faces haunt me to sleep, Future Yullia. I have let down my country. My people have been killed. I cannot give them money, either. Their lives are irreplacable.

I do not deserve the title of Empress. I am not a Noir.

I do not think there will be a Future Yullia. Perhaps there shouldn't be.

Dear Future Yullia,

It has been months. There have been more hostile faces. I fumble more often. I think I will lose soon.

The last one was written on the prison walls, barely legible as someone copied it down.

Dear Yullia,

I am in jail. My father, mother, and brother's faces are all gone. My people have also turned against me. There will not be a future Yullia. I cannot forget their faces. I cannot close my eyes without seeing them. I have failed my people.

I think I am crying. Not because I will meet my end soon, but because I have failed Noir. It is sad, is it not?

My memory is hazy.

I requested braised ham for my last meal, but it did not come.

I will die soon.

But it is alright.

For I, Yullia Millicent de la Noir, have lived for the people.

Perhaps I'll see my family soon, if I ever make it up there.

This is a first, but,

Thank you, for everything, Yullia, whom I will not see again;

Sorry, and goodbye.

Arriville, Noir,

YULLIA MILLICENT DE LA NOIR

It is said that Yullia's last letters caused even grown men to cry when they had visited the museum that had housed the papers. Although some never forgave Yullia for her grave error that caused the Blanc-Noir massacre and the death of thousands, many realized that they, too, had committed a grave error.

Some of those who had pelted her with tomatoes had knelt at her grave, almost beginning for forgiveness.

Even the veterans who had survived the massacre confessed that it wasn't Yullia's fault.

One particular rebellion leader, who went by the moniker Stark, confessed that he and many others had been hired by corrupt nobles to rally the masses against the young Empress.

"It wasn't 'er fault," he had allegedly said at knifepoint, shivering. "It was the nobles. It was 'al them. We couldn' resist the gold."

Those who had bragged about storming the palace and seizing their leader were now silent. Even her guards who had turned against her were now quiet.

It wasn't the massacre itself that had put an end to the Empress' reign, but the mere thought of the blemish on her reputation.

Her loss against the Blancs, and the loss of morale amongst the citizens, caused those who opposed her to strike hard.

Yullia's grave on Victory Hill was almost always filled with flowers.

HERE LIES YULLIA MILLICENT DE LA NOIR.

AN EMPRESS WHO LIVED FOR THE PEOPLE.

A HERO WHO NOIR HAS FAILED.

A HUMAN WHO HAS ALSO ERRED.

MAY SHE REST IN PEACE.

ARRIVILLE.

The grave was visited every year, by a multitude of people from different backgrounds, but all mourned her passing.

It was a custom to kneel on her grave, and say a variant of the last words that she herself had uttered.

"Arriville, Yullia."

The Empress.

The Hero.

A Human.