The Crimson Queen

Seraphina’s POV 28 hours earlier I was staring off into space when Mandie’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Sera… Sera… Sera! Are you there? Earth to Sera!” She snapped her fingers inches from my face. I blinked, finally focusing. “Yes? Yes? What—what is it?” I frowned at her. Mandie tilted her head. “What happened? Did your pet die this morning?” “What? No. I don’t have a pet.” “Well, you were in a daze. Lost in thought… or—” She paused, lips curling into a teasing grin. I scowled. “Okay, can you stop staring at me like that? You look like you swallowed a lizard.” “I actually swallowed a live lizard once when I was four,” Mandie said casually. “But my mom said it was a baby snake. I was in surgery for hours and stayed in the hospital for months before they discharged me.” She said it completely serious, like she hadn’t just dropped trauma that should’ve come with a warning label. I stared at her, mouth slightly open. “…You swallowed a _what_?” “A baby snake,” she repeated proudly, lifting her chin like it was some kind of childhood achievement. My face twisted before I could stop it. Nose scrunched. Brows furrowed. Stomach lurched. A snake? In her _mouth_? The image alone made me nauseous. Mandie only grinned wider, clearly enjoying it. “You should’ve seen your face. You look constipated and terrified at the same time.” I rolled my eyes, heat creeping up my neck. Mandie was deflecting—typical. Her chaos was usually loud and distracting, sometimes even helpful. But today it only reminded me how trapped I felt in my own head. “Can we _not_ talk about snake-eating childhood trauma right now?” I muttered, rubbing my temples. Mandie’s smile faded. “Okay… then what’s going on? Seriously.” Her expression softened, eyes narrowing like she was trying to decode a badly written textbook. I hated that look. Hated how easily she could see through me. “I don’t know,” I admitted quietly. “It feels like my heart is tightening. I have a bad feeling. I can even feel a chill at the back of my neck.” “Oh…” Mandie said, panic flashing across her face. “Then something bad might happen. Maybe—maybe you should pray or something.” Before I could respond, my face did it for me. I shot her a mocking look. “Mandie, honey, that’s the dumbest thing you’ve ever said since the day I met you—and you’ve said a _lot_ of dumb things.” “You were about to curse, weren’t you?” she pointed out. “Yes, but I’m trying to cut back on curse words,” I snapped, waving my hand in her face before crossing my arms. “That’s not the point.” I scoffed. “Pray? Pray to _what_ exactly? The deities? The statues at the center of the capital? A Catholic church? Are you serious? You know I don’t believe in things like that.” “I know, but—” “But nothing. Let’s just hope nothing bad happens. When does our break end?” “Twenty minutes,” Mandie said quietly. “I was just trying to help.” She looked wounded. On the verge of tears. I sighed, the tension easing as guilt crept in. She _was_ trying to help. I opened my mouth to apologize when my phone rang. I answered without checking the screen—only my mom had the audacity to call me during work hours. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?” “I’m sorry… is this Seraphina Moretti?” a soft, unfamiliar voice asked. It sounded like it had seen too much. The hair on my arms stood up. “Yes,” I said slowly. “Who is this?” “My name is Nurse July from Kingsville General Hospital…” There was a brief pause. “I’m sorry to say this, but your mother was in a car accident. She’s in critical condition and keeps refusing treatment. She’s asking to speak with you.” The color drained from my face. My blood ran cold. “Alright,” I said, voice tight. “I’m on my way.” I hung up, ripped off my waitress apron, and bolted out of the storage room straight for my car. Mandie called after me, asking what happened, but I was too stunned to explain. All I managed to say was that my mother had been in an accident and was refusing treatment before I sped off toward the hospital. When I got there, I ran straight to the reception desk, breath uneven and heart pounding. “Hi—someone was brought in here a few minutes ago,” I blurted in one rushed breath. “Name?” the receptionist asked without looking up, already typing. “Lorean Moretti,” I answered. My voice cracked, and I noticed my hands were shaking. The receptionist scanned the screen, then nodded. “Turn right, take the elevator to the third floor. Third room on the left. You can’t miss it.” “Thank you,” I said, already moving. I turned sharply and sprinted toward the elevator, fear tightening its grip on my chest with every step. The doors slid open with a soft chime, and I stepped inside, jabbing the button for the third floor harder than necessary. The doors closed, sealing me in with the hum of machinery and the pounding of my heart. Every second felt stretched, distorted, like time itself was dragging its feet just to torment me. My fingers curled into fists at my sides. That chill I’d mentioned to Mandie earlier hadn’t faded. If anything, it had deepened, creeping along my spine like an unseen hand tracing my bones. The fluorescent lights flickered once. For a split second, I felt dizzy, like the ground beneath me wasn’t entirely solid. _Get it together,_ I told myself. _This is just stress._ The elevator finally stopped. The doors opened to a quiet hallway washed in sterile white and muted blue. The air smelled of disinfectant and something faintly metallic. I stepped out and turned left. People moved past me, but all I could hear was my own heartbeat, loud and fast in my chest. My shoes echoed too loudly against the polished floor. *Third room on the left.* I spotted it immediately. The door was slightly ajar. I slowed as I approached, chest tightening with every step. My hand hovered over the doorframe before I pushed it open gently. The first thing I heard was my mom’s voice—pained but still strong and determined—asking when I was going to get there and saying she didn’t have much time. The nurses and doctors were trying to convince her to take anesthetic to ease the pain so they could try saving her. But she kept pushing them away, telling them she was going to die anyway, so it would just be a waste of materials and add to whatever bill was piling up. “Mom?” My voice cracked as tears blurred my vision of her bloodied body on the bed. The room fell into a brief, stunned silence. Lorean Moretti turned her head toward the door. Pain was etched deep into her features, but her eyes sharpened the instant they found me. Bruises bloomed across her skin. Dried blood streaked her temple and stained the sheets beneath her. She looked broken—but unyielding. “Sera,” she said, voice hoarse but steady. “Send them away.” The nurses exchanged uneasy glances. One of the doctors stepped forward gently. “Ma’am, we really need to—” “Out,” Mom snapped, summoning a strength that didn’t belong to a woman on the edge of death. “All of you. Now.” They hesitated, then looked at me. My throat tightened, but I nodded. “Please… give us a moment.” Reluctantly, the staff filed out, murmuring under their breaths. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing the room in a heavy, unnatural quiet. The machines kept beeping—the only reminder that time was still moving. I crossed the room on shaking legs and dropped to my knees beside the bed, clutching my mother’s hand. It was colder than it should have been. “Why are you doing this?” I sobbed. “Why won’t you let them help you?” Lorean’s fingers curled weakly around mine. “Because help isn’t what I need. And because if they put me under… I won’t wake up.” I shook my head violently. “You don’t know that.” “I do,” she replied softly. “I’ve known this day would come for a very long time. Which is why I need to tell you this before I go.” A chill swept through the room—colder than before. The lights flickered, dimming for a heartbeat. I felt it instantly, the same icy sensation creeping up my spine and settling at the base of my skull. My breath hitched. Mom noticed. “You feel it,” she murmured. “Just like I did at your age.” I froze. “What are you talking about?” Lorean swallowed, breathing shallow. “I wanted to protect you. To keep you ignorant. But ignorance won’t save you anymore.” The beeping of the monitor grew faster. “Sera,” she whispered urgently, “you were never meant to be ordinary.” The temperature dropped again. The shadows along the walls seemed to stretch, curling unnaturally toward the bed. My heart pounded so hard it hurt. “This accident,” she continued, “it wasn’t random. They’ve been watching me. Waiting.” “Who?” I asked, fear clawing its way into my chest. “The ones who fear blood-bound power,” she said. “The ones who feared our family from the very start. The ones who fear both you and your father.” I gripped her hand tighter. “I don’t understand.” “You will,” she said, a faint, sad smile touching her lips. “Sooner than I wanted.” She pulled me closer, her mouth near my ear. “Enchantress,” she whispered. A sharp wave of heat surged through my chest, clashing violently with the cold. My vision blurred—not from tears this time, but from something deeper. Something _awakening_. Mom gasped, sensing it. “There… that’s it.” “What’s happening to me?” I whispered. Lorean reached up with trembling fingers and pressed her bloodied palm against my chest. The moment skin met skin, a pulse of crimson light flared briefly beneath my ribs—gone as quickly as it appeared. I cried out, staggering back. “The Crimson Queen,” she breathed, awe and sorrow mingling in her voice. “Born of blood and will. Bound to death—but never ruled by it.” Footsteps rushed past the room outside. Voices rose in alarm. Mom’s strength faded rapidly now. Her grip loosened. “Listen to me,” she said urgently. “When I’m gone, they will come for you. You must not trust easily. And when the time comes—” The monitor let out a sharp, continuous tone. “No,” I whispered. “No, don’t—” Lorean smiled softly, eyes never leaving mine. “Rule them… or burn them. Look under the right drawer of the table in the center of my study. There… there you’ll understand everything.” The tone screamed and the lights went out.