Page 93 of Red Queen

From my pouch, I retrieve the vial that glimmers with magic. The phoenix’s tear at dawn. Its radiance outshines even the moonlight streaming through the window. Unscrewing the cap, I pour the liquid over the heart-shaped talisman. It sizzles upon contact, an ethereal hiss filling the chamber as the dark magic within writhes in agony, fighting against the tear’s purifying force.

“Let the light cleanse you,” I whisper to the talisman, watching as the phoenix’s tear works its power, the first step toward breaking the curse Catarina so desperately clings to.

With the room steeped in silence save for the distant clamor of battle, I reach into my bag for the next ingredient, closing my fingers around a small pouch containing the ash of a vampire turned to dust under a blood moon.

“By blood and bone, by dust and moon,” I chant, scattering the ash in a meticulous circle around the talisman. Then, with a deep breath, I extend my palm above the circled heart, igniting the ash with a flame that springs from my very essence—orange and red blazing around the edges of darkness.

The ring of fire blazes fiercely, the heat intense enough to burn me, make me recoil, yet I stand firm. Its energy, drawn from sacrifice and transformation, begins to envelop the room, amplifying my intent to shatter the corruption festering in Catarina’s realm.

“Consume the dark, birth the light,” I command the flames, feeling the power swell within me as the ritual takes hold. “Tonight, this pulse will beat no more.”

The flame flares but doesn’t change color, doesn’t shift, and I need that before the next part.

The battle beyond the room is an intense chorus, with steel whistling against steel and the guttural snarls of combat seeping through the stone walls. I glance up and through the doorway. I can see Alexandru, a whirling specter of death, his blade a silverarc in the dim light. Moros, Erebos, and Nyx dart above, their cries splitting the air. The nocturnal ravens are a synchronized blur of beaks and talons striking at faces and eyes.

Blood, a scent both metallic and intoxicating, steeps the corridor and sullies the ancient stones. Alexandru moves with vampiric swiftness, a general commanding the very essence of war. His sword plunges into a vampire’s heart, a gush of vermilion staining his military garb. He spins, decapitating another assailant, dark blood spewing forth like a grotesque fountain.

My heart races, and I clench my hands. Oh, how I long to be beside him, our blades singing a duet of destruction. But my task here is crucial, the key to ending this nightmarish reign.

The heat shifts, still painful, still hot, and the flame flares cerise telling me the first part of the incantation has taken hold. I need to start the next.

Returning to my task, I remove the mandrake root pulled at the stroke of midnight from my pouch. Its gnarled, humanoid form seems to throb with the latent energy of the earth itself. With a swift motion, I crush it in my hands, releasing a pungent aroma, mingling with the sharp tang of the magic-infused flames.

“By mandrake’s might and midnight’s hand,” I say, my voice steady as I sprinkle the powdered root into the ashes. “Reclaim what was taken, break the bonds that hold.”

The earth’s energies rise at my call, a symphony of old magic and steadfast strength. The ground beneath my feet thrums with power, eager to aid in the undoing of the wickedness that’s seeped into this domain.

“Let this cursed heart be unmade!” I faintly smile despite the gravity of the moment.

The thrill of the impending victory courses through me, a fire that rivals the one encircling the talisman.

“Soon, very soon, Catarina, your time will come to an end. And I’ll be the one to turn the hourglass.”

With the mandrake’s essence now a part of the circle, I turn to the final piece of this precarious puzzle. I retrieve the last item from my bag. The mirror of pure silver in my shaky hand, its surface unblemished, reflecting my hallowed gaze back at me. I give myself a nod—it’s time.

Raising the mirror with both hands, I unlock the seal with a deft flick of my thumb. A banshee’s whisper, sealed within, begins to stir—its mournful cry a haunting prelude to power unleashed.

“Come forth and sing your song of sorrow and strength,” I urge, feeling the vibration of the mirror as the sound builds, a crescendo of loss that resonates with my very being.

It spills into The Darkened Pulse, which writhes as if alive, desperate to escape the inevitable.

“Your pleas won’t save you now,” I say, tightening my grip on the mirror. “It’s over.”

The banshee’s lament fills the room, swirling around the heart-shaped talisman. My eyes, locked with my own reflection, see not just the vampire queen I’ve become but also the fierce rebel who has fought tooth and nail to get here, a changed woman, with a softness that’s strength, an openness and iron fist that can open, palm up. And a shadow behind me, around me, protecting me.

The talisman shudders, and I can almost hear Catarina’s distant shrieks of defiance from somewhere within the castle walls.

I begin to chant the ancient incantation, the words flowing from my lips like a river breaking through a dam. “Tezcatlipoca, quimichtin, nequiya, tonatiuh...”

With a resounding crack, the ancient talisman splinters into a maze of fissures, each one spreading like a spiderwebacross its surface. Its shrill screams pierce my ears, discordant notes clashing against the haunting melody of the banshee. In response, the very foundations of the castle begin to shake, the shock wave of our confrontation reverberating through every stone and bone in its structure. As if in protest, the walls themselves seem to groan and shiver under the strain.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you? Hell hath no fury like a vampire queen scorned,” I whisper to the talisman, almost affectionate in my contempt.

A surge of energy ripples out from the heart, an invisible force that throws me backward. I stumble, my heels dig into the ground, muscles tensing, every fiber of my being resisting the onslaught. The room blurs, my focus narrowing to the pulsing artifact before me. Every shattered shard that flies free is a note in the symphony of its destruction, playing the song of my triumph.

“Die, damn you!” I grit out, whether to the talisman or the forces trying to protect it, I don’t care.

My will is iron, my resolve unbreakable.

---