"If you have any final request... Do ask for it now. Or don't in forever again." The executioner spoke again.
Aefia merely tilted her head to the side a bit, tapping her chin with her bruised fingers for a while before blurting out;
"Take me to a private room where I can dress like a girl and play with accessories one last time."
The entire prison cell turned dead silent. Then started to laugh.
"Ho ho! You really are still a kid!" The executioner spoke, slapping a hand onto her shoulder. "Too bad... You aren't able to make it into your adult years."
She let out a dramatic sigh. "Speak about it..."
"Anyways. I will ask his Highness the Crown Prince about it then." He added over his shoulder before leaving.
In the meantime, Aefia glanced down at her wrist. They were bruised and battered. And for one thing... It reminded her of her past life all at once.
Though it did no damage this time.
With a deep breath, she silent snuck up to the only window at the corner of the cell. With a flick of her fingers, a small glittery-winged butterfly sat perched onto her index finger.
She stared down at it. Before holding it up to the window where it slowly started to walk around and explore.
"Memorize this place well enough. I will be back in a very short time actually." Aefia whispered, stepping backwards until she hit the wall that she had been resting upon until now.
To think back... Have I ever been imprisoned like this? That too for high treason?
Well I did try to attempt treason once before... But I was never arrested. And I was never held captive for this long too honestly.
Guess my predictions about this process being tough and soul-draining was true.
She softly leaned her head back against the concrete, staring up at the ceiling as the butterfly fluttered back down at her place.
"Done?"
It flapped it's wings once in a "yes".
"Alright. Now the next thing. Go find the execution block."
It's wings gave a small flutter before it lifted off again. The small butterfly vanished through the narrow bars of the high window, a barely perceptible speck of glowing crimson lost against the graying sky outside.
Aefia lowered her hand, letting her arm drop loosely to her side. The damp chill of the stone wall seeped through her torn uniform, but she barely felt it. A whole month of damp filth, rotten crusts, mock trials, and calculated silence had boiled down to these last few hours. Every hit she had taken, every insult she had swallowed, every bruise she had let bloom across her skin—it was all just currency spent to buy total, unmonitored movement across their layout.
"High treason..." she muttered softly under her breath, a faint, breathy chuckle escaping her lips.
To the Mides Crown, she was a broken prisoner waiting for the block. To the guards, she was just an arrogant Imperial Princess whose mind had fractured under a month of underground confinement.
They saw a girl begging for pretty dresses and jewelry like a child throwing a final, pathetic whim before the axe fell.
A low, heavy clatter of keys rattled from the far end of the corridor about more then half-an-hour later.
The heavy iron door groaned open once more, and two guards stepped into the torchlight, carrying a wooden chest between them. Behind them stood the executioner, holding a key ring with an amused, condescending smirk plastered across his broad, scarred face.
"You are in luck, girl," the executioner called out, kicking the wooden chest forward until it hit the floor near her feet with a dull thud. "His Highness Prince Kazimir thought your little request was hilarious. He said an Imperial Crown Princess ought to look like one when her head rolls off the platform tomorrow morning."
The guards flipped open the iron latch of the chest. Inside lay a heavy, elaborate velvet gown in Mides royal navy and silver, alongside a velvet tray holding an array of ornate silver hairpins, a heavy hand mirror, and a silver comb.
Aefia slowly pushed herself off the wall, her dark hair falling around her shoulders as she stepped toward the chest. Her movement was deliberate, unhurried, carrying that same quiet, terrifying composure that a month of torture had failed to strip away.
"How generous of him," Aefia said softly, her crimson eyes reflecting the faint, flickering torchlight as she picked up the silver hand mirror.
She looked at her reflection in the polished glass. Her face was pale, a thin, faint scar running along her temple where they had smashed her head against the stone.
"Enjoy your final night, Sovereign," the executioner sneered, signaling the guards to step back out into the hall. "At dawn, the whole kingdom watches you fall."
The solid iron door slammed shut, the heavy deadbolt sliding into place with a definitive, ringing 'clang'.
About a second later—
"Wait!"
—Aefia shouted from the prison door.
The guards turned around, shocked.
"I remember saying 'take me to a private room'. You seriously can't think that was just a simple extra thing that wouldn't change a thing?" She continued.
The executioner was baffled. "Kid..."
"I want to feel like royalty one more time. What did you honestly think I was going to dress up for? I am not as stupid and delusional as to choose such luxury just to wear it for fifteen minutes and then let it go it waste..."
"Whaaaat—"
"Seriously! If you ever had a daughter who was getting killed like this, and her wish was just to be like a 'princess' again... Is it that difficult?!"
Silence settled over the cell once more.
Then, the executioner walked away with a long tired sigh—only returning ten minutes later to take the chest and lead Aefia towards the chamber she had been designated.
It was the same guest room she had been given the last time she came over to the Mides Kingdom. A wave of weird nostalgia flooded her mind as the door slammed shut behind her.
She walked over to the massive bed, and flopped down into her back on it.
"...Puppet..." Her voice rang out softly.
Immediately, a tiny red plushy appeared out of thin air, and landed directly onto her hand.
"Aefia! Long time no see!"
"Yeah..." She solemnly replied, watching as it snuggled its face against hers. Its tiny whispers tickling her skin where it burshed. And gradually, the scars from the prison was dissolving back to their pale tone too.
She spent a long time like that.
Puppet snuggled closer against her cheek, its soft, crimson fur warm against her cold skin.
"Aefia, they were so mean to you down there! If I had my old strength, I would have turned that executioner into a pincushion!" the little wolf squeaked, flailing its tiny arms dramatically in the air.
Aefia let out a soft, genuine laugh—a sound that hadn't echoed in her chest for a whole month. "Quiet down, Puppet. You will wake the guards outside."
"Let them listen!" Puppet huffed, perching itself on her shoulder as she sat up on the soft, feather mattress. "Look at you! They ruined your hair, they ruined your skin... Oh, wait, look! The scar's gone!"
Aefia reached up, tracing her fingers over her left temple where the jagged, crusty cut had been just minutes ago. The pale skin was completely smooth now, flawless and untouched. The bruises along her wrists and arms faded away like melted ink, leaving behind only the porcelain clarity of her true form.
"Seriously... It gets me all the time." Aefia murmured, standing up from the bed and smoothing down her tattered tunic. She walked over to the tall vanity mirror in the corner of the room, running her fingers over the dark navy velvet gown lying neatly inside the wooden chest.
"They really don't know anything, do they?" She smirked silently.
"Not a single thing!" Puppet cheered, hopping onto the edge of the vanity table and crossing it's arms. "Ooh! Are you wearing the navy dress? It matches your eyes really well when you get mad!"
Aefia didn't answer with words. She stepped into the heavy velvet gown, pulling the silver-trimmed corset tight and fastening the hidden silver clasps along the spine with steady, unfaltering hands.
The navy fabric draped heavily over her frame, the rich velvet sweeping against the floor with a subtle, luxurious rustle.
She sat down at the vanity, picking up the silver comb.
High above, near the vaulted ceiling, a single crimson spark drifted through the window. The small butterfly fluttered down, landing delicately on the tip of the silver comb resting in her palm. It flapped its wings twice—a clear, precise signal.
Aefia put down the comb, a cold, razor-thin smile touching her lips as she looked toward the dark window where the first faint streaks of the execution's dawn were beginning to bleed into the night sky.
Puppet hovered around her head like a hyperactive little pet, blabbering continuously.
"Up! Put it up in a bun! Like how you used to wear it when we went to those silly imperial banquets! Oh, and the silver hairpins! Use the ones with the little tear-drop crystals! You look like a real empress when you wear those, Aefia! No, wait, an evil queen! A very pretty, terrifying evil queen!"
Aefia listened with a small, amused smile, letting the plushy's nonsensical chatter wash over her as she brushed out the matted, silver-edged locks of her pitch-black hair. She gathered the thick silk into a tight, pristine bun at the nape of her neck, securing it with the ornate silver pins from the chest.
She picked up the delicate silver diadem—crafted with intricate leaf patterns that caught the dim candlelight—and placed it lightly atop her head. Lastly, she fastened two long, teardrop-shaped silver earrings into her lobes, the polished metal brushing against her jawline whenever she tilted her head.
Puppet gasped, clapping its tiny paws together. "Aefia! You look so pretty!"
It softly flew down and leaned against the diadem. "If Prince Kazimir sees you like this, he's going to cry out of pure jealousy! He wishes he had hair like yours!"
"He won't be crying over my hair, Puppet. He already has long hair..." Aefia whispered, leaning closer to the mirror to adjust the diadem.
"Now then... I guess the traitor needs to get moving."
She held out her hand, and Puppet willingly dissolved back into a faint streak of red light, vanishing into her shadow.
The heavy oak doors of the guest chamber swung open with a loud, echoey groan.
Two armed guards and the Chief Executioner stood outside, their hands resting on their sword hilts. The executioner opened his mouth, ready to bark another cruel insult, but the words froze solid in his throat.
Standing before them was not the bruised, starving, and broken girl they had dragged up from the deep dungeons an hour ago. She looked as though she were about to step onto a ballroom floor to receive high lords and ladies, rather than walk toward a bloody wooden scaffold to have her neck severed.
But maybe... She looked like a royal member who had accepted their fate.
She took a calm, deliberate step forward, her heavy skirts trailing behind her on the marble floor.
"Well?" Aefia asked softly, her voice cool and melodious, tilting her head slightly as she looked the stunned executioner dead in the eye. "Shall we go? It would be rude to keep His Majesty waiting on my big day."
"K-kid..." The executioner managed to choke out. "You are dying today..."
"So?" She asked back.
"Aren't you even a tad scared?"
"..." She blankly stared at him for a long moment. Then, smiled.
"Scared?" Her voice sounded better then in the prisons. "Don't worry... I died a lot of times before..."
***
The central courtyard of the Mides Palace was packed to absolute capacity.
High noble banners fluttered in the sharp morning wind, and thousands of spectators—lords, ladies, and elite guards—lined the grand stone balconies. At the center of the courtyard rose the scaffold: a heavy, black-stained wooden platform surrounding a single, moss-covered block of stone.
Seated high above on the royal dais sat the King of Mides, clad in his ceremonial dark-gold armor, flanked by Crown Prince Kazimir. His rapier rested across his knees—a smug, triumphant grin plastered across his face as he watched the crowd jeer and whisper.
When the heavy iron gates at the base of the courtyard swung open, the noise of the crowd abruptly died down.
Kazimir's smile wavered, his knuckles tightening around his rapier as he stared down at her flawless skin and unbothered posture.
"What is this?" he muttered under his breath, his eyes darting to her wrists—completely clear of the black, corrosive bruises he had left there a while ago. "How is she..."
"Silence," the King commanded, though his own brow furrowed in deep, gnawing unease.
He stood up, drawing his heavy broadsword from its sheath. The steel hummed with a sickly, suffocating aura that made the air in the courtyard grow heavy. "She seeks to mock us with her vanity one last time. It changes nothing."
"Seriously father... You shouldn't—"
But the King didn't listen.
Aefia ascended the wooden steps of the scaffold, the soft rustle of her dress echoing in the dead silence of the square.
The Chief Executioner stepped aside, yielding the platform to the King himself, who marched down from the dais to personally oversee the execution of the Third Aethalgard.
"Sofia of the Smod Empire," the King declared, his voice amplified to ring across the entire courtyard. "For high treason, dark espionage, and attempting to dismantle the Mides lineage... you have been sentenced to die by the blade of the Crown.
"Do you have any final words, girl?" the King demanded. "Or will you weep for the empire you failed?"
She simply shook her head.
"Foolish child," the King spat, his face contorting with rage. "Die!"
With a blinding flash, he brought the massive broadsword down with all his strength.
A collective gasp tore through the crowds in the balconies.
...Things had been too fast... But...
"What...?" The King stared in disbelieve.
Aefia stood straight behind the lifeless body. She dusted her fingers with a blank expression, before snapping them.
In an instant... What the crowd saw was...
Drip... Drip...
"The King had died!" Someone shouted.
But the King was standing right there, with his sword still at his hand... Looking down at his own body—
—which should have been Aefia's.