Post by Émile d’Ames on Jan 9, 2011 21:43:43 GMT -5
End of Sabrina's reign
The Queen was dead.
It was poison, they said. There was nothing I could have done, even if I had been there to ensure her safety. No man could defend against poison, not even a Cassiline, not even a Queen's Protector.
I had fled to Landis's salon at the first opportunity, running as if all the demons of Hell were hot on my heels. I could not bear to stay in the Palace, to walk the halls that she had walked not a fortnight before. At present, I could not hear Landis, but I imagined that he had gone to confirm my grim news with one of his bedmates he regularly whored for. The salon itself was silent.
It was, I thought, a good time to die.
I entered the room that Landis had set aside as a shrine of sorts. The effigies that had been passed down through the generations stood in their niches, the candles before them standing like sentinels. I lit them all, then knelt in the middle of the floor. At my feet lay the roots of two mandrake plants, their humanoid features making them seem doll-like in appearance.
Such an innocent visage, however; concealed a deadly poison.
I took the larger root in hand and began the slow process of grinding it into a fine powder. It was a tough root, and I was inexperienced with mortar and pestle, but eventually I was able to grind it up.
They said that she had died from poisoned wine, so I too added the remains of the root to wine, red as blood, dark enough so that I could not glimpse the deadly plant beneath its surface. They said that the roots of the mandrake produced terrifying visions, driving a man near mad before he expired.
I wondered, in my maddened state, if I would dream of her before I expired...
Slowly, taking my last breath, I tipped the goblet toward my mouth...
The Queen was dead.
It was poison, they said. There was nothing I could have done, even if I had been there to ensure her safety. No man could defend against poison, not even a Cassiline, not even a Queen's Protector.
I had fled to Landis's salon at the first opportunity, running as if all the demons of Hell were hot on my heels. I could not bear to stay in the Palace, to walk the halls that she had walked not a fortnight before. At present, I could not hear Landis, but I imagined that he had gone to confirm my grim news with one of his bedmates he regularly whored for. The salon itself was silent.
It was, I thought, a good time to die.
I entered the room that Landis had set aside as a shrine of sorts. The effigies that had been passed down through the generations stood in their niches, the candles before them standing like sentinels. I lit them all, then knelt in the middle of the floor. At my feet lay the roots of two mandrake plants, their humanoid features making them seem doll-like in appearance.
Such an innocent visage, however; concealed a deadly poison.
I took the larger root in hand and began the slow process of grinding it into a fine powder. It was a tough root, and I was inexperienced with mortar and pestle, but eventually I was able to grind it up.
They said that she had died from poisoned wine, so I too added the remains of the root to wine, red as blood, dark enough so that I could not glimpse the deadly plant beneath its surface. They said that the roots of the mandrake produced terrifying visions, driving a man near mad before he expired.
I wondered, in my maddened state, if I would dream of her before I expired...
Slowly, taking my last breath, I tipped the goblet toward my mouth...
