Villainess Of Hearts

It was akin to every fairytale, there were preordained roles that one had to take to make it a complete story. That of a belle, a righteous and pure woman with a heart made of gold and of a vile dame, wroth and filled with greed, destruction stretched forth in her path. Of the handsome prince, king or noble, desired by both or even just one. Of the steadfast and loyal knight that could not see the sin of his lady or chooses to protect the one who he puts above all.

And of course, there were many more.

People who had breathed life and shared their own. Sometimes nameless, other times only known through titles such as the third lady of this small and minor House, of a simple shopkeeper with the impish smile but kind heart.

Would the Joker have laughed at such impudence of thinking of such people, or the hilarity of the decisions of life? The man could not. There was a reason why Archetypes were a known element. What had happened now, had already happened countless times before. It would go against fate and the ploys of men and people if you were to stray from such a path.

The road would simply lead her back to the rose garden filled with twisting thorns.

The blade had sunk into the other woman's chest, a warm and rich color dripping into her hands. Staining them with the blood of an… innocent woman? Rosalyn knew not a thing. She might have shouted about the unfairness of life, of how accident upon accident happened without her consent.

And yet all she could do was wish for the blood and fading warmth in her hands to live on.

Moonlight did not shine on the two siblings, a King and a Traveler, returning from the labyrinth in haste. The fire and wind did not burn or blew brightly for the Knight and his men that had cut down through the assassins to find their Rulers. Neither had it latched upon a man that had lowered his hat in the shadows.

The eerie fog changed not the atmosphere, when the light of the moon looked as if it had descended in the hands of the guilty Queen holding onto the cold steel of the knife in her hands. That of the quickly fading woman who could never once accept it if she had been called a mouse.

"Mallory, Mallory—"

Panic had already risen in her chest, her red eyes raised up to find two pairs of blue eyes, of Alexander and Alice stricken and frozen. Doubt and wariness in their eyes.

But even the thought of denying it was out of her mind.

"No, no, we can still do something!" She said, her voice rising in an attempt to make herself sound sure. And yet she could feel the growing paleness in the woman's complexion. Her own cheek felt a numbing sting that she had refused to pay attention to. Poison? Some kind of venom and toxin that had made even a wound on her face feel like nothing and something?

"Your Majesty," came Gine's voice.

"Take her to the Royal Doctor, we still have a chance, Gine. Listen to me." She tried to rise to her feet and felt the strength in her legs betraying her, only caught by her Knight. Her blood-stained hands marred the man's armor, and yet he cared not for it. Her fists hit the man's armor weakly, grappling with a fight against life and death, tugging for the woman's time. 

"Your Majesty, calm down, please."

"The Royal Doctor—" The Queen of Hearts watched the Knight's face become pained at the mention of the old man, Doctor Griphon. Until she finally grasped at what had happened, or at least what might have happened. She did not think that could have occurred… and yet what kind of attack would only go so far to attack the Castle's gardens? If they had been able to infiltrate, they would have gone for the vulnerable ones and do it on a large scale.

"Please give a report of what has happened, Knight Ginellevé." His Majesty, Alexander Hartsmichdt ordered. The expression on his face was a torn man, of a man obligated to focus on his duties and put away the questions he might have about the sight before him.

"... the soldiers in the Castle and those of Lord Warth and Lockhart's men, no, it was every man, noble or not, that had been able to pick up a sword took to the fight to face an en masse of assassins, Your Majesty. Others, less wary, more relaxed, were killed in their sleep. This is of a concentrated attack—"

"I can see that for myself—have you figured out who are the ones responsible for this?!" Alexander Hartsmichdt rubbed his face, losing his temper for once. "If this situation had been controlled and even half-mitigated, have the soldiers close the gates and call—"

Julius Ginellevé did not raise his head, but only knelt. "Yes, it has already been done. The remaining people in the Castle are assembling in the throne room, Your Majesty. We are utmost relieved to see that you were in safe hands and in the labyrinth."

There was no time for squabbles and accusations.

Nothing petty should have been pointed out, but what else could a steadfast Knight say to a King that had somehow managed to come out safe and unharmed from the predicament that had swept the entire Castle into alertness? If someone had a pipe, they might have taken it out and smoked right there.

And someone did.

Their jobs were accomplished, and so he smoked. The gray and dark cloud rising as if also sending a silent prayer to the lives that had been lost. And yet even the fire and flames went out, trodden down. In another part of the Castle, a cat person could not find it in him to smile. The pink haired Lady shaking and distraught of a Lord that had run all the way to find her, only to be struck cowardly from behind.

Thus everyone was called for an assembly, whereas a funeral might have been more suiting.. For now they were gone, like leaves taken by the winds and never to be seen again.