~ Remembering ~2011
King Falem stared down at his trembling, blood-stained hands, feeling nothing but numbness. The bitter night air kissed his tear-streaked face, tangling his black hair into damp, matted strands. The day’s brightness had faded, leaving only the cold darkness of the night, but he could still see the grass, stained a merciless crimson. Blood was everywhere. His eyes traced the trail as it intertwined with her black curls, which cascaded lifelessly over the earth. The scent of jasmine oil, which she had applied that morning, lingered faintly, mixing with the iron tang of blood. The sweet fragrance of his beloved Lamora would be no more.
Overcome with sorrow, Falem bowed his head, his body going limp as he gently closed her emerald eyes—eyes that would forever haunt his soul. A deep, searing pain surged through him, as if a dagger had been plunged into his heart. He knew, with crushing certainty, that nothing would ever be the same. A part of him had died along with her.
His eyes scanned the shadows around him, squinting into the darkness. A chilling thought crept into his mind: Was the one who killed her still here, watching him mourn? His numb fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword, driven by a burning need for vengeance. He wanted them to be there, needed them to be there, so he could strike back that very night. But deep down, he knew it was hopeless. The air was thick with loneliness, pressing down on him like a suffocating weight. Questions swirled in his mind, unanswered and relentless. Who had brought her here, to this cursed place? Had they known the dark history of these woods?
Blinded by grief, Falem stumbled through the dark forest of Aurnan, clutching Lamora’s lifeless body tightly against his chest. The forest’s thorns and branches tore at his skin, but he was too numb to feel anything. His thoughts were a blur, deadened by the overwhelming sorrow that consumed him.
He finally reached Brendor, the pitch-black stallion that had been waiting silently. The horse’s ears twitched as Falem approached, and it stepped back warily. Misty breath billowed from its nostrils as it grunted, its unease palpable. The silence was broken only by the crunch of frostbitten grass beneath Brendor’s hooves.
The ride back to the castle was long and torturous, the darkness of night slowly giving way to the cold light of dawn. By the time they reached the castle gates, the world around Falem seemed to blur and spin. Guards rushed out to meet them, their faces mere shadows in his hazy vision. He heard their voices as if from a great distance, muted and indistinct.
One of the guards took hold of Brendor’s reins, guiding them through the gate. As a crowd began to gather, the fog in Falem’s mind began to lift, but the clarity brought no comfort. He opened his mouth to speak, but only a scream emerged—a sound so raw and agonized it seemed to tear through the very air. The crowd stood frozen, shaken by the king’s grief, unable to move or speak.
Queen Lamora was dead. The light that had once illuminated the realm was gone, extinguished forever. No one could ever understand what had been taken from him that day. He had seen death many times, but hers was the one that mattered. Hers was the death that broke him, that left him feeling defeated and scorned, as if a thousand demons were tearing at his soul, even as he still drew breath.