A tale of beauty In the Dark

Hannah and Joe The earth was heavy and slick beneath Joe’s feet, a mix of morning dew and the trampling of a thousand eager boots. He stumbled, his knees meeting the dirt with a dull thud. "Careful now," Hannah laughed, her voice a bright silver bell over the roar of the crowd. She reached down, her hand firm as she hoisted her brother back to his feet. Joe brushed the dust from his tunic, his eyes wide. At ten years old, this was the furthest he had ever been from the quiet safety of their home. Their parents had always kept him close, whispering of the chaos of the city, but today was different. Today, the air itself felt charged with electricity. "So, what exactly happens now, Hannah?" Joe asked, struggling to see over the shoulders of the taller townsfolk. "It’s the New Year, Joe," she said, her expression softening into something more serious as she adjusted the small, wrapped parcel in her arms. "The Queen honors the tradition today. She releases the old guard of maids and looks for the new. She will walk through Bandora Central, and girls like me... well, we present our gifts and our hearts. If she chooses you, your life changes forever." Joe looked at his sister. She looked different today—sharper, more hopeful. "So you’re going to be a Royal Maid?" "Only if I’m chosen," she replied, though a small, confident smile tugged at her lips. "The rewards for the family are heavy, Joe. It would mean more than just a job; it would mean a seat at the table." "And the party?" Joe’s eyes sparkled. "Is it true what they say about the night feast?" "The Queen’s Gala," Hannah whispered, her eyes drifting toward the high spires of the palace. "Only few families and families of the newly elected are invited. If my name is called, you, Mother, and Father will pass through those golden gates tonight. We’ll be introduced to the court." Joe straightened his shoulders, suddenly feeling the weight of the moment. He looked at the gift in her hands, then back at his sister. "Then you must be selected, Hannah. I want to see the gates." Hannah let out a soft, nervous breath, her gaze fixing on the path where the royal procession would soon appear. "From your lips to the Queen’s ears, brother." The queen arrives As the royal procession crested the hill, the festive chatter died in throats, replaced by the rhythmic, metallic clatter of the High Guard. They marched in a phalanx of obsidian and gold, their faces obscured by grim, unblinking helms. These weren't just soldiers; they were the living wall of the monarchy, their polearms gleaming with a lethal, polished edge that warned the crowd: Admiration is allowed; proximity is not. Then, the carriage door creaked open. Queen Adira descended, but she did not walk alone. Towering behind her like a shadow cast in flesh was Elder Garrick the Seer. His reputation preceded him like a cold draft—rumors of a "dark gift" that allowed him to peer into the marrow of a person’s soul. He was a man of terrifying proportions, his eyes sharp and predatory, moving with the restless precision of an eagle scouring a field for prey. Every person he looked at instinctively recoiled, as if his gaze alone could leave a bruise. They reached the elevated dais at the heart of the square. The Queen’s voice finally broke the silence, surprisingly melodic yet carrying the weight of absolute law. "My beautiful daughters of badola ," she began, her eyes scanning the sea of bowed heads. "The cycle turns once more. Fate is a hungry thing, and today, we see who it chooses to feed. Step forward. Offer your tribute to the crown, and let the gods decide your station." She gestured to the velvet-lined tables before her. "Place your gifts. Retrace your steps. Let the Selection begin." The tension snapped like a dry twig. One by one, the young women began the long, trembling walk toward the dais. Among them, Hannah squeezed Joe’s hand one last time—a quick, frantic pulse of electricity—before she stepped into the light. Her face was flushed with a dangerous mix of terror and triumph as she moved toward the Seer’s watchful shadow. Selection Begins The air thickens with a cacophony of rhythmic drumming and frantic murmurs as the Selection gains momentum. "The first has been chosen," the Queen announces, her voice slicing through the music. She doesn't look into the sea of faces, but instead points a sharp finger at the departing line of girls who just placed their tributes on the table. "You. In the blue." The girl freezes, her heart visible in the frantic pulse at her throat. She turns, stumbling back toward the dais with a look of pure, disbelieving shock. The crowd’s hum swells, a mixture of envy and awe rippling through the Central. "Your fashion is poor, yet colorful," the Queen observes, her gaze tracing the girl's silhouette. "It attracts me. What is your name?" "J-Jani," the girl stammers, her face flushed with a sudden, heat-stricken smile. "Congratulations, Jani. Your favorite color has favored you today." The Queen gives a dismissive wave. "Step aside." A guard moves with silent, armored precision, clamping a hand on Jani’s shoulder to usher her into the shadows behind the royal line. Jani follows, still dazed, as the Queen’s attention already flickers away. "Continue. Keep coming." As the sun climbs, the process turns erratic. The Queen’s hand darts out again and again, plucking girls from the retreating groups for increasingly strange reasons. One is chosen for the way her shadow falls across the stone; another for the specific, jagged rhythm of her walk. The atmosphere grows heavy with suspense. Hannah watches, her breath hitching as the line thins. The logic of the Selection feels like a puzzle with shifting pieces, and now, it is almost time for her group to face the table. Hannah presents her gift The drumming slows to a low, thudding heartbeat as Hannah’s group finally reaches the dais. She moves in a daze, placing her parcel on the mounting pile of tributes before retreating toward the crowd. Suddenly, the Queen’s hand shoots out like a viper. "You—the one who just dropped the jewelry." A girl in Hannah's group freezes. She turns, her breath hitching as the Queen lifts a shimmering necklace from the table, the stones catching the light like trapped fire. "What is your name?" the Queen asks, her eyes narrowing as she inspects the craft. "Kora, your Majesty," the girl whispers. "You are far too pretty," the Queen says, her voice laced with a cold, sharp edge that makes the air turn brittle. "Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't dream of selecting you. But this necklace... it says otherwise. It possesses a grace you haven't yet earned." She drapes the jewels around her own neck. "Congratulations, Kora. You are already my favorite." Kora’s face erupts in a radiant, disbelieving smile. "Thank you, my Queen. I am honored." A guard steps in, his obsidian gauntlet clamping onto Kora’s shoulder to usher her into the royal shadows. The Queen sighs, her posture relaxing as she surveys the remaining girls heading back to the crowd. "Enough. This year’s selection has come to an end." Dissatisfaction ripples through the Central like a physical wave. The girls who weren't picked—including Hannah—bow their heads, the weight of failure heavy on their shoulders. But as Hannah begins to melt back into the shadows of the crowd, a voice like grinding stone stops the world. "You. The girl in black. Halt." Elder Garrick stands like a monolith, his long, predatory finger leveled directly at Hannah’s spine. The crowd freezes. Even the wind seems to stop. Hannah turns, her breath hitching, as she is forced to step back into the light. The Queen stiffens, her eyes flashing with a sudden, sharp territorialism. She leans toward the Seer, her voice a lethal hiss. "Garrick, what are you doing?" "She will be selected," Garrick replies. His voice isn't a request; it’s a prophecy. "Why?" the Queen demands, her gaze raking over Hannah with cold disdain. "Look at her. There is nothing in those eyes but beauty. Obviously, she is too beautiful. I am not looking for a third wife for my husband, Garrick. He has already turned two maids into concubines. I will not make it three." Garrick doesn't flinch. He leans in closer to the Queen, his eagle-like eyes never leaving Hannah. "You see beauty, my Queen. I see something else. Something buried. I saw it in her eyes... a flicker of what is to come." "I see a distraction," the Queen retorts. "A threat to the throne's peace." "The King is deaf to many," Garrick whispers, his voice dropping to a chilling register, "but he is never deaf to me. I promise you, she will not be what you fear." "And what of you?" the Queen asks, her suspicion blooming. "Are you choosing her for your own bed?" "They call me the Seer for a reason, but even I have a master—my wife oversees me," Garrick says, his expression unreadable and grim. "I would never give her the chance to kill me. Besides, it is rare for me to ask a request of the Crown. Do not turn this one down." A suffocating silence descends. The Queen adjusts her heavy silk robes, her eyes narrowing as she finally yields to the Seer’s dark insight. She turns her gaze back to Hannah, who stands trembling on the stone. "Young lady, step forward. What is your name?" "Hannah... my Queen," she replies. "Congratulations, Hannah. You are the last soul to make it." "I am honored," Hannah gasps. She briefly meets Garrick’s gaze—those terrifying, predatory eyes that seem to strip her soul bare. The sheer weight of his look forces her to bow her head instantly in a gesture of terrified gratitude. As the guards move in to claim her, Hannah’s head snaps toward the crowd. Her eyes frantically search the sea of faces until they lock onto Joe. She gives him a sharp, jagged sign—a signal that the impossible has happened. "The Selection is closed," the Queen announces, her voice cold and final. "See you another time." The Queen turns, her regal cape sweeping the dust as she retreats to her carriage. The Golden Palanquin rises, and the procession vanishes toward the palace, leaving the Bandora Central in a stunned, haunting silence.