Seraphine — The Garden of Unmade Queens
Seraphine fell for what felt like an entire lifetime.
SFX: fwsshhhhh—CRACK
She hit the ground that wasn't a ground at all.
She had landed in what once might've been a throne room,
now twisted into a garden of white lilies
growing upside-down from a ceiling of black water.
Every lily had a face.
Every face was a queen she had killed.
Queen Elyra—sixteen, gentle, crown slightly crooked—knelt in the center,
hands folded in her lap,
eyes the color of endings.
Hundreds more surrounded her:
crowns of burning gold,
crowns of bone,
crowns of nothing.
They all stared at Seraphine
with quiet, collective accusation.
"You promised you would stop," Elyra whispered.
Her voice echoed like wind across a grave.
"You promised the next kingdom would be the last."
Seraphine's flames guttered—
weak candles in a storm.
"I was trying to save you," she breathed.
"From them.
From everything."
Elyra rose.
SFX: ripples moving across the ceiling's black water
Her bare feet left no trace.
"You saved me by erasing me," she said softly.
"Now save yourself the same way."
She reached out her hand.
The lilies turned toward Seraphine—
hundreds of pale faces—
and opened their mouths.
SFX: one note emerges — piercing, crystalline, impossibly pure
A single sound filled the air,
the note that unmakes.
Seraphine felt her existence unravel,
thread by dissolving thread,
memory collapsing into static.
She didn't fight it.
She simply closed her eyes
and waited to become the silence
she had given to so many others.
Veyra — The Thousandth Death (Internal Monologue)
Another reflection dies.
SFX: SKULL-ON-SKULL CRACK
I crush her head until the glass beneath us splinters
and the brain-matter spells my name in wet pink.
Good.
Let it spell it a thousand times.
Let it scream it until the mirrors choke on it.
I'm so tired.
So fucking tired
of being the strongest.
Every version of me that drags itself back up
is just another reminder
that no one ever loved me enough
to kill me properly.
Not my father.
Not the village.
Not the saints.
Not even the thorns blooming under my skin.
They all just wanted to see how much I'd take
before I broke.
But I never begged.
I laughed.
I always laugh.
Because if I stop laughing,
I'll hear the little girl
who still thinks someone is coming to save her.
She's wrong.
No one's coming.
Not Kael.
Not Seraphine.
Not even me.
I'm the monster they locked in the dark
because the light was too afraid
to look me in the eyes.
Fine.
I'll kill every mirror
until the only thing left
is the monster.
Then I'll kill that too.
And if the Hollow wants to keep me?
Let it try.
I've been trying to die beautifully
since I was nine years old.
It's about time someone finally got it right.
Kael — The Corridor That Remembers His Name
Kael walked until the shards stopped whispering—
and began screaming.
SFX: thousands of voices rising in dissonant, overlapping shrieks
The Hollow shifted around him.
Floating debris condensed into a corridor of black glass
veined with silver—
the same silver as the scar across his abdomen.
Doors lined the walls.
Hundreds.
Thousands.
Each door had a nameplate.
Each nameplate bore a version of his name,
written in his own handwriting.
Kael Voss – Age 7 – The day he first fed the Wound
Kael Voss – Age 12 – The night he killed his first man
Kael Voss – Age 16 – The night Alcris betrayed him
Kael Voss – Age 19 – The execution platform
And the worse ones:
Kael Voss – The Vessel Who Said Yes
Kael Voss – The God-Emperor of Ash
Kael Voss – The One Who Devoured His Lovers To Save Them
Each door hung slightly open—
just enough for violet light to leak onto the floor
and the sounds of someone sobbing his name
to seep through the cracks.
He kept walking.
At the end of the corridor stood the final door.
No nameplate.
Just a single burned handprint
at perfect chest height.
His size.
His shape.
Kael raised his hand.
Placed his palm against it.
SFX: low, resonant pulse — DOOM
The door swung inward.
A room appeared—small, warm, familiar.
A fireplace.
Two worn armchairs.
A chessboard mid-game.
Alcris's favorite opening.
Alcris sat in one of the chairs.
Golden hair.
Soft smile.
Exactly as he looked the morning before the betrayal.
He lifted his eyes.
"You came," he said quietly.
"I knew you would."
Kael's breath stopped.
The Hollow had finally found it—
the one thing that could make him hesitate.
It wore his brother's face.
It spoke with his brother's voice.
And it was waiting
to see if love
could finish the job
that torture never could.