In the heart of an ancient realm, in a kingdom no longer known to time, within the stone walls of the royal castle, a tale of tragedy was unfolding. The air hung heavy with anticipation as Queen Eliza, adorned in simple breezy and loose clothes, lay on a bed draped in rich fabrics which were now a mess and soaked in sweat. The surrounding room was adorned with tapestries depicting heroic battles and mythical creatures, but it was tense with an unusual energy.
Cersie Sierra, the fiery-red-haired daughter of the queen, stood at her mother's bedside, her soft blue eyes were filled with worry. She had light freckles sprinkled on her face and her usually pale and happily flushed skin now had a subtle sallowness that graced her fair skin as if foreshadowing for something dark…
Queen Eliza's face contorted with pain as she struggled through the agonizing throes of labour. The red tendrils of hair clung to her sweat-drenched forehead, and her pale skin bore the burden of her impending motherhood. The scent of burning candles and medicinal herbs hung in the air as the midday sun cast long shadows across the chamber.
The witch, a young woman known throughout the kingdom for her knowledge of the arcane healing and, as a midwife, moved with practiced grace, but she was clearly stressed and worried, most likely due to the king's barking and yelling. Her eyes, hidden beneath a red hood, darted around the room as she worked to guide the queen through the intense labour. Beads of perspiration formed on the witch's forehead as she fought to fulfil her duty, her hands moving with a blend of urgency and precision.
As the queen's cries echoed through the chamber, the sound carried beyond the walls, reaching the ears of the castle's servants. In the bustling corridors, the normal hum of daily activities faltered. Servants paused in their duties, exchanging worried glances as the queen's screams reverberated, filling the castle with a haunting chorus of pain and despair.
The room seemed to pulse with a terrifying energy as the queen's cries intensified, each breath a struggle against the cruel hands of destiny. The witch's hands hovered over the queen's swollen belly, a web of intricate symbols etched in chalk surrounding the birthing bed. The scent of herbs and the distant crackle of the fireplace intertwined with the queen's cries, creating a haunting symphony of birth and sorrow.
Amidst the dim light, the queen's pained gasps reached a final crescendo, and the servants exchanged anxious glances. A sense of foreboding hung in the air as the last moments of labour approached, the flickering candlelight casting eerie shadows on the castle walls.
The labour had ended… It had ended with silence and the arrival of a lifeless child. The room fell into a hushed lament as the infant lay motionless in the witch's hands, a cruel twist of nature that sealed the child's fate before drawing its first breath. The witch's shoulders slumped with the weight of failure, her hood falling back and revealing her eyes to be wide with shock and sorrow.
Grief-stricken, King Aldric's anguished cry pierced the solemn air, reverberating through the stone walls. Cersie's eyes filled with tears as she stood at the foot of the bed, feeling the weight of her father's sorrow as her mother's life slipped away like sand through their fingers.
Amidst the sorrow, the stressed and worried witch, she tried to speak as she stepped forward. Tears rolled down her face as she whispered, "I was supposed to safeguard the queen and her child…" She raised a trembling hand in a futile gesture of defense, her words lost to the wind as she attempted to explain the inexplicable. Yet, in the king's eyes, she had failed them.
Guards, loyal to the crown and blinded by grief, seized the witch and dragged her away, her protests lost to the corridors of the castle. The king's decision echoed through the kingdom as swift as the autumn wind, spreading fear like wildfire. Witches were to be branded as enemies of the realm, to be blamed for the queen's demise…
From the highest towers to the smallest of villages, the proclamation rang out all the way through the kingdom, casting a shadow over those who practiced the ancient arts. In his grief-stricken rage, King Aldric cursed not only the witch but all those who shared her mysterious power. The era of magic became a forbidden chapter in the kingdom's history, marking the beginning of a dark tale that would haunt the land for years to come.