She saw glimmering shadows slipping through the archaic maze of the lonely castle, covered in cobwebs and the wet tears of loyal slaves.
“Stop counting your steps”- She called out to her queen, who was too busy tracing her smokey footprints and tallying the distant mountains, to hear her daughters wailing.
The ghosts of regal ancestors were singing their songs from the mountaintop, filling the live ones bellies with dread about what the future would bring to the Kingdom.
The time had come to slaughter the King. To rid the land of the masochists and the sterile lovers whom fainted from the slightest stench of Witchcraft. The oldest power the world has ever known.
Pink clouds gathered and a sigh of relief echoed through the Kingdom. Not even the dragons stirred. Dawn arrived in a drunken haze and the witches boarded their brooms. The river had turned crimson.
She had already packed her sack and slit the throats she had to. The queen kissed her daughters porcelain forehead, a gesture that she was proud of the blood under her fingernails.
“I’ll meet you in the forest again my precious child, take the alter, guard your flesh, be wild, be free.”
Never ever would they hold each other again. But the moonlight helped them talk to each other across worlds.