1397

To be the villain is to be without a past, without a journey, to be reduced to present actions lacking reason or justification. Thus am I perceived, as if I exist solely as a counterpoint, darkness to light. Yet you should heed my story as a warning instead of burying it beneath my current infamy. We are, after all, not so different, our paths not so separate. You could have been me, had circumstances differed just slightly – and you could still become me yet. Your advantage in this game is tenuous, and fate is fickle. I, too, was once beloved, after all; there is a millennium of royalty in my blood, and great value in the name which was stripped from me. I, too, once had comrades and companions. Do not think because you left your home willingly you are less an exile than myself. Do not think because you have found a new home, a new tribe, that it cannot be taken from you. Anything and everything can be taken away. I will prove that to you by the end of all this, if you are too proud or too cowardly to heed my example.

#1396

The Exile Queen, they call me, holding court upon the waves, my fortress iron and wood and tattered sails, twice dozen cannon to hold the throne; the Exile Queen in my finery of black leather and shining silver, attended by courtiers who swear allegiance to naught but ruthlessness, friends of the blade and the bullet. The Exile Queen mantled in shadow; the Exile Queen crowned in blood.

Welcome to my kingdom.

 

[ Life is super stressful right now; apologies for the string of bad writing to follow. ]

#1394

In my dreams the sorceress circles me, matted black hair and needles in her hands, they’ve been dipped in a poison far more fatal than Snow White’s, and I am calling for you as I move to keep the witch in my sights, she lunges but I catch her wrists and we struggle for dominance, the little metal slivers inching ever closer to my flesh until with a surge of defiance I hurl her back, enough to rock her on her feet and before she can close with me again you appear out of nowhere, sword in hand, and the sorceress’ head goes rolling off her shoulders–

–and then we are standing together, her and I, the sorceress resurrected, and she is showing me a sleeping kingdom wrapped in magic and thorns, a kingdom like her own which she offers to me, a gift, my very own land to rule as I wish, yet she is old and weak and I see this is her last attempt, she knows she can’t slay me but thinks maybe she can lure me away with promises of power and beauty, away from you whom I love so deeply, but I only scoff at her bribery and wake to seek you in a world where, too, the witches strive to part us yet never succeed.