The summer sun flared defiantly outside the grand palace of amoria, illuminating its ancient stones with a golden shimmer. Within, however, Elizabeth remained ensconced in darkness, the heavy wooden door sealed tight against the world. It had become her sanctuary—or rather, her prison.
Three nights had passed since the last heated exchange between her and Lord, the emperor Ludwig , her husband. He had returned home smelling of distant perfumes and laughter, much like the sun outside, while Elizabeth remained cloaked in shadows, her heart aching with loneliness. Had it not been for the cold stone walls and the flickering candles casting long, mad shadows, she might have convinced herself that the comfort of love had not withered altogether.
In the beginning, she had managed to ignore Ludwig 's change and attitude —his newfound indifference sprinkled with moments of affection, always meant for someone else. The initial whispers of hushed conversations among servants had morphed into stinging barbs, reminding her daily of his neglect. But it was the servant, Gideon, who took it upon himself to sharpen the knife of torment, thrusting it deeper each day.
"Your ladyship," he sneered, as he entered the dark room with practiced ease, a tray of stale bread and water in hand. His voice dripped with malice. "It must be dreadful to drown in such silence. Perhaps you'd like me to bring you a mirror to see how your sorrow paints your face? It's rather alarming, I'm told."
She loathed his presence. "Leave me, Gideon," Elizabeth whispered, her voice barely rising above the raven-haired shadows that played around her. The chill of the room made her skin prick, but not as much as the man who reveled in her misery.
"What would Lady Margot say if she knew how you languish?" he continued, leaning against the doorframe as if waiting for a response, his smirk a thistle in her heart. "Regret, perhaps, or pity? Little does she know that you spend your days buried in this tomb, thinking of a husband who chooses to revel in another's embrace."
The emperor had spoken of Lady Margot—his recent obsession—with an intensity that numbed Elizabeth's heart. She could hear the whispers during dinner; the way his eyes would gloss over at the mention of her name, while she sat opposite, a ghost in her own home.
"Is your majesty by her side this evening?" Elizabeth challenged Gideon, her voice steadying despite herself. "Did he ask you to come poke at my wounds?"
Gideon chuckled, a low, sinister sound that unsettled the air around them. "To think you held such hope for his attentions! It isn't love you're wallowing in, my lady; it's the shadow of betrayal. You'll find little reprieve here. As you wallow, he loves freely. If it's pity you seek—I have none left for you."
Each word was a vine strangling her heart. Elizabeth turned away, gazing into the depths of the suffocating dark. She had long since become a reflection of the room—a specter, forlorn and bereft. Outside, the sun dipped and shadows shifted, and yet, inside, her time stood still, shaped only by Gideon's taunting words.
"What makes you stay?" he pressed, his voice breaking through her thoughts. "Why endure this punishment? Wouldn't it be easier to free yourself? Leave this cold palace, this cursed life?"
"And where would I go?" Elizabeth's voice was a mere echo now, laced with bitterness. The grim notion of escape was enticing yet fraught with peril. The castle walls, though forbidding, offered her the only semblance of safety. Outside lay a world where love thrived—a world that had forgotten her name.
"Fitter places than this cell! What of the meadows?" Gideon continued, striding toward her, his shadow towering ominously. "The flowers bloom there; life breathes. In these halls, however, you fade. Every passing day steals another fragment of what you once were."
"Enough!" she shouted suddenly, as fury surged inside her like flames licking at ice. "You know nothing of my heart. You stand outside the window, throwing stones while I nurse the wounds of a thousand cuts. Do not mistake your own bitterness for my despair."
Almost in shock, she met his gaze head-on, though her heart trembled at the fierceness behind her own words. Gideon recoiled slightly, perhaps realizing for the first time that she was more than a mere captive.
"Elizabeth," he implored, a frail tone whispering through the remnants of disdain. "You are worth more. Even if the world outside shuns you, there are those who would cradle your heart."
"Then why linger in despair?" she murmured, ominously aware of the flickering hope he offered.
Gideon, once a mere thorn, seemed to understand for the first time the weight she carried. "Because we are creatures of the shadows, both of us. Yet you deserve to bathe in the light. Do not let his betrayal extinguish the fire in your soul."
With that, he retreated, leaving her alone with swirling thoughts—a tempest of sorrow and fatigue. The walls echoed her silence, accusing yet defenseless.
In the heart of Castle Briarwood, surrounded by claustrophobic darkness, Elizabeth grappled with an unyielding desire for freedom. Yet, the shadows had crept into her very soul, compelling her to remain, if only to find solace within her suffering.
As tears pooled, glistening like forgotten stars in the night, she realized that in seeking to escape the darkness, she must first reclaim her own light—a journey fraught with pain, but one she might have the courage to embark upon, if only she dared.
There, cloaked in shadow, the majesty and the lady Margot laughter haunting her like a fading dream, Elizabeth began to envision a path not yet taken—a path where she might one day step into the light.