CHAPTER 6:the Queen's ghost
892 Words
---
*CHAPTER SIX – THE Queen’s Ghost*
The sun had barely risen when Imelda found herself wide awake, sitting on the edge of her massive bed, staring at the golden embroidery on the rug.
She hadn’t slept much.
The note from the night before still echoed in her mind: *You don’t belong here. Leave… before it’s too late.*
She wanted to brush it off. She’d been through worse in the real world — customers yelling, sleepless double shifts, nights without food. But this… this was different. This wasn’t stress. This was danger.
Real, quiet, lurking danger.
A knock came at the door — soft, hesitant.
It wasn’t Grace.
When she opened it, she found a young maid standing there, eyes wide. “I-I didn’t mean to wake you, Your Majesty, but… there’s something you should see.”
Imelda didn’t ask questions. She grabbed a robe, slipped into her slippers, and followed.
---
The girl led her down a side corridor of the palace, then another, narrower one Imelda had never walked before. The walls changed — less marble, more stone. Older.
“This part of the palace…” Imelda whispered. “No one comes here.”
“It was the Queen’s private wing,” the girl said. “Before she got married.”Imelda’s steps slowed. “You mean… before *I* got married.”
The girl nodded silently.
They stopped at a locked door with dust-covered handles. The maid reached into her apron and pulled out a silver key. Imelda didn’t ask how she had it. She didn’t want to know.
The door creaked open, revealing a forgotten room.
It was a bedroom — smaller than hers, less grand — but still royal. Faded velvet curtains hung over the windows. A broken mirror sat above an untouched vanity. On the desk was a small, locked journal… and a single painting.
Imelda walked in slowly, drawn to the portrait. It was Queen Elira — her face identical to Imelda’s, but the expression was different.
Colder. Sharper. Harsher.
There was power in her eyes, but no warmth.
Imelda whispered, “She looks like she could kill with a smile.”
“She nearly did,” the maid said under her breath, then turned red. “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay,” Imelda said. “Tell me. What happened here?”
The girl hesitated, then said, “The real queen… she wasn’t well. She would lock herself in here for days. No one knows what she did. Some say she practiced old magic. Others say she was trying to escape the marriage. But then she changed overnight. Colder. Crueler.”“Do you think she’s the one who brought me here?” Imelda asked, voice low.
“I don’t know,” the girl whispered. “But I don’t think she’s gone.”
Imelda turned sharply. “What do you mean?”
The maid swallowed. “Some nights… people say they hear her voice. In the walls. Calling out. Screaming.”
---
Back in her own chambers, Imelda stared at her reflection in the mirror.
Same face. Different woman.
But if Elira was truly gone… why did her shadow still linger?
Kael arrived late that afternoon, unannounced.
She met him in the garden, sitting under the rose archway with a book in her lap she hadn’t really been reading.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he said, half-joking.
“Maybe I have.”
He sat beside her. “What happened?”
She told him everything — the old wing, the journal, the whispers.
Kael was silent for a long time after.
“She never let me in,” he said finally. “Not emotionally. Not into her world. I was a political match, nothing more.”
“Do you miss her?” Imelda asked.
Kael looked at her carefully. “No. But I do wonder… what she was really running from.”
They sat in silence again, but this time it wasn’t heavy. It was thoughtful.
Safe.“I want to find that journal again,” Imelda said. “Whatever magic brought me here… I need to understand it. And I think she left behind more than just rumors.”
Kael nodded slowly. “I’ll help you.”
Imelda smiled — the first real one all day.
“Thanks, Kael.”
---
That night, she returned to the old room alone.
No maids. No guards. Just a candle in one hand and determination in the other.
She found the journal still where she left it. This time, she brought a small hairpin — a trick she’d learned during a boring night shift back home.
The lock clicked open.
Inside were pages and pages of Queen Elira’s handwriting — elegant, sharp, calculated. But it wasn’t what Imelda expected.
They weren’t war plans or curses.
They were entries.
Personal, raw, desperate.
*“They don’t see me. They only see the crown.”*
*“I thought being queen would mean freedom. But it’s a prettier cage.”*
*“I’m going to make them feel what I feel. Even if it destroys everything.”*
Imelda swallowed.
Queen Elira hadn’t been evil.
She’d been broken.
Trapped.
And maybe, just maybe, she found a way out — by pulling someone else in.
Someone like Imelda.
---
- Writer
