Shadow of Death

V

Truth was in the queen's words, a story the Wings of Death wishes to forget.

It happened when this cursed queen was only a scullery maid in the palace and she was madly in love with the prince. She took care of him and made him feel he was always cared for. Unknown to the prince, he was also being protected from unseen creatures by talismans and amulets this woman made him wear.

Well, the young prince was indeed every girl's fantasy. He was dashing then and sturdy in built, his face was like a bright day when he smiles and like scorching haze when he's not. He can also fight as mighty as any of the kingdom's warriors. But, with all these, he was like a paper easily crumbling and burning to fire on his mother's deathbed. He was not a warrior or a prince there, he was a son to his dying mother. He never left her side. Praying and praying that death for once would surrender his claim.

He was often left alone with his mother, and he was alone that day, when he saw his mother drew her last breath. Deep, but peaceful. Oddly, he felt as if everything is going to be alright. He wasn't able to say anything, no parting words whatsoever. He only had to embrace her one last time.

He felt a breeze of wind came through the open balcony. He stood and looked around the room. When his gaze turned to the bed again, it's as if his mother had risen and is already standing. Her hair had been tangled and dirty for she had spent the last week just lying on her bed, but now it was neatly combed. She did not look sick at all, she's healthy, radiant even. She was smiling at him.

There was another person in the room too. A fair maiden standing beside her mother. She was not familiar to him, but it only took one glance at this stranger for the prince to wish he'd know all about her. She was beautiful. That was all he could think of. Her skin being white as white could be, her hair and eyes were deep black, her lips was the color of blood.

Her eyes met his gaze for the shortest possible moment, but the prince knew he would never forget that. He wanted her. He wanted her bad.

There was a flutter of black feathered wings, then the stranger was gone along with his mother, he thought he was alone then. However, on the bed, the corpse of the late queen was still there, lying. The prince knew, only her body was left, her soul had already parted and flown away.

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It was already two weeks since his mother had passed and the prince was still locked up on his room. People in the palace were getting worried.

The witch maid in particular was almost panicking. She had recited about a hundred incantations to lift the prince's spirit and make him happy again, all to no avail. The prince kept to himself and refused to step outside.

She was of course reciting the wrong incantations, for although the prince still grieves for his mother, he also has a certain kind of happiness. He was already happy. He was in love.

He could not take the beauty he saw off his mind. He wanted to see her again. but he knew he couldn't. It was apparent she is not at all mortal. She was someone powerful and supernatural. She is not to be desired by some mortal prince. With all this, he loved her anyway.

That two weeks, he had painted her on a canvas as big as a window. He wanted to stare at her forever. When the painting was done, he sat and did nothing but look at it. More than any artist could look at his masterpiece with all the passion in the world. He was smiling all the time and imagined she would talk to him. Oh! how he wished he could hear her voice, would it be clear as summer sky? or rich and deep as honey? He might never know.

"My prince?" a voice came to him. He turned to see a palace maid.

"How did you get in?" He asked, looking at the closed door.

"I came to give you dinner." She said presenting a silver tray full of food and lavish beverage. She did not bother to answer the prince's question.

Her eyes turned to see the painting. She was horrified and almost dropped the tray.

"Just put it on the table." The prince said. "Then leave."

She put the tray on a table. but lingered to look at the painting. She knows that face. One of the many unseen creatures her mother had introduced to her.

"Why are you still here?" The prince asked her, obviously annoyed by her presence.

"Who is she?" she asked him, voice trembling.

The prince smiled. He wanted to talk about her, praise her and brag about her beauty. "She is my beloved," he said.

"No." The maid whispered to herself, then left.

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Three years came, and the prince was crowned king. He governed his kingdom well, but his advisers were worried about something. He doesn't seem to have any plan to marry! They have encouraged him for so long, and yet he seems to have lost interest in it, whether for love or duty.

He was madly in love with the Wings of Death. Locking himself in his room and just stare at the painting was his way of marriage.

This is not acceptable for the witch maid. She hated the girl in the painting, she hated her so much. If the king was married to a princess somewhere, she would have been okay with it. She loved him so much, she was ready for a lifetime of one-sided love. But at that time, she felt like she had to stop the lunacy of the king. She knew she could do something, she was a witch, after all and those three years she had gained power enough to do as she pleased.

So one night, she crept up to the king's chamber as he was sleeping. She stood in front of the painting and murmured a few spells. Her finger touched the blood-red lips of the girl in the painting and flames started to burn a hole in the canvas.

The king woke up from the heat and crackling of the fire. He saw his dearest painting engulfed in flames.

"No!" He screamed and jumped from his bed, but the painting was gone now, only its ashes remained, scattered on the floor.

Weirdly enough, no other parts of his chamber caught fire. He sat on the floor, surrounded by ashes and cinders. He was hopeless and helpless. The silence kept him unstable.

Then, there were footprints. Someone embraced him from the back. "I'm here now." She said, with a voice cold and sweet like night.

The king moved to face her. He was greeted by the face in the painting. The woman he longs for. She smiled at him and embraced him once more. There's no amount of words that can express the bliss the king had felt.

But it was only an illusion. Illusion like no other. For as the king saw the face of the Wings of Death, it was in fact the witch maid who cast a spell as the king was asleep so she would appear to look like his beloved. The spell would stay with him forever.