You’re the King. King of Hearts. But most importantly, King of my heart.
He sits on his throne, upright and immutable. She comes in through the doors to the large room, a card is holding her by the arm so hard she fears it’ll leave a bruise. He won’t like it. Won’t appreciate others manhandling his diamond. Yet he must allow it in the presence of unknowing eyes, of disapproving gazes. She does not fear them; Alixe fears no one. She is the mastermind of this place, this place that is her mind. The only real part of it is him. He studies her, her baby blue dress, her onyx hair tied into a half-ponytail. She's an immaculate sight with eyes rounded and innocent. She ignores the reason why she’s here; he doesn’t call without her prior knowing. Maybe this will be the moment he gets rid of her, kicks her out of her own delusions. None of this is real but she kneels at his feet when she is dragged over. A glint of defiance appears in her eyes when she glances up at him. She fears no one, no one. And he knows, knows her like the back of his hand. Only silence has been constant but the room grew restless as the pair stared at each other. There is need in his eyes, dark desires of taking her away after burning the place down.
In some way, he reminds her of Henry VIII, his foot all over England like Supreme Head of his own church. But he was still ruled by God, just like Alixe is Goddess. And Hatter a figure she so strategically placed here. Nothing is more satisfactory than knowing how much power you hold behind closed doors. All the people in this room, at this moment, think her insignificant and fragile. Big mistake. There is a thin line between real and the fake, between fiction and fact. What they see is what she chooses to show. She notices the executioner from the corner of the eye and she has to press her lips together not to smirk. Time is moving so slowly. The sun falls into the room gracefully, shines onto his very light (almost gray) hair. He likes to change it all the time but sometimes he lingers on the memories from when they first met. She remains the same ethereal sight he swears charmed him at once. Maybe only five minutes have passed -- and they feel eternal -- before he is leaning in to inspect her factions better. His arms leave the comfort of the chair and choose his knees to support this new position.
She feels like a child, a helpless child. Resist, resist. She aches to close the minimal distance between them and she can see he is struggling as well. Someone clears their throat and the trance is broken. The King is leaning against his throne once more and Alixe is left shivering in uncomfortable denied expectation. His hand moves, motions for the executioner to come. It’s over. The steps are heavy as a very gloomy atmosphere takes over. The sun doesn’t feel warm anymore and she’s not looking at him anymore, but rather at his feet. No one speaks, no one breathes. There is collective fear in the near-by bodies. Except in hers. And his. Would she be Catherine of Aragon? Anne Boleyn? Or Jane Seymor? Would she be humiliated, condemned or venerated? One more action from him would seal her fate. A fate as ephemeral as she allowed.
There is a strike, she knows not where it came from but the light died into darkness. She knew then what he had chosen. The executioner was dead and Blood was out in full splendor. She raises her gaze to admire him in his twisted handsomeness, in his now bloodied clothes. “Love”, he commands her to stand before the terrified eyes of those present. It was time to leave, escape the illusion. There is nothing left there for them. “Go”, he whispers only for her to hear and in the blink of an eye she is flying across the room to get the work done with. One, two, three, she counts them dead. The kingdom is perishing like a rose in winter, falling apart with the force of a hurricane. She dances the dance of the dead and he smiles at her beauty. She is the deadliest flower he’s ever had the pleasure to behold. Darkness is absence of light, absence of sun, of moon. Dark, dark, dark.
His voice is tender but distant in her ear. She cannot quite make out what he’s saying. She glances back at him only to see his face filling with cracks. He is part of the place she is destroying -- She is destroying him. The one person she wanted to protect from harm is letting her set him on fire. Ironic turn of tables. She tries to come back to his side but the floor has her trapped. She tries to call out but her voice is gone. Alixe can only watch his porcelain skin meet the floor as she struggles to set herself free. She hates it, hates losing people, hates herself, hates. Hate is a strong word that even herself uses lightly. Desperation begins to take hold as the floor beings to swallow her and the limbs and blood of all those she annihilated minutes ago. Hatter is no more but a broken statue in the center of the room and Alexis is but a hopeless mess. The last thing she sees is the moon. Hope.
“ There can be no rebirth without a dark night of the soul, a total annihilation of all that you believed in and thought that you were. ”
