ALEXANDER'S DOUBLE LOVER
"They buried me with roses. Red, like the betrayal in their hearts"
The sky was grey, the morning they laid me to rest. Not stormy, not gentle, just blank, like the eyes of the people who came to weep.
They cried. My mother's veil soaked in fake tears. My father face tight, as though forcing himself to mourn. And Albert, my dear Albert. Stood tall beside my cousin, her hands around his arm.
I watched them from the oak tree, unseen. My fingers trembling, body cold, heart burning.
The coffin was shut, but I knew what was inside. My face, my hair, . My pale hands folded neatly like I had died with grace. But I haven't. I bleed on cold ground, screamed, I fell. And no one tried to save me .
That morning I had woken up in someone else's body. A maid's body. Thin wrists, bruised ankles, calloused palms. The scent of ash and soap clung to me. I looked into the mirror and saw her face , not mine. Her lips, her eyes, her sadness.
Her name was Margaret.
They didn't notice. Not my mother, not the maids I grew up with, not even Albert. I moved through the halls like a ghost, cleaning floors I used to walk in silk. Serving wine to the very people who buried me.
And no one knew. But I know.
Someone killed me, and someone let me die.
They think the dead can't speak. That once the dirt is thrown and the prayers are said, we're gone.
They're wrong.
I'm still here, watching, and I'll remember everything.
