The hall remained smothered in an invisible tension, as though the entire world was holding its breath, waiting for something even worse to come. The candles trembled faintly, their shadows dancing across the faces of nobles who could no longer hide what they felt.
Eleanor stood alone in the middle of it all, upright, but fragile. Like the last candle that hadn't yet gone out. Her gown, which had once been a symbol of splendor, was now stained with blood and loss. Yet her face stayed calm. Too calm for someone who had just lost everything.
"Interesting…" Reginald murmured, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. "You really have changed."
He moved toward a nearby guard without any urgency, as though what he was about to do was nothing, something small and insignificant. His hand closed around the hilt of the guard's sword.
The cold metal caught the candlelight and gleamed.
Eleanor didn't step back. She didn't even blink.
"Is this it, then?" she asked quietly.
Reginald turned the blade slowly in his hand, watching the light travel along its edge. "Weren't you the one who asked for it?"
Eleanor drew a long breath. For just a moment, memories flickered through her mind. Her father's face, her mother's smile, the sound of laughter she would never hear again.
All of it, gone now.
"Then do it," she said, perfectly calm.
Seraphina watched from the side, her smile thin but full of satisfaction. She made no move to stop Reginald. No one in that room would.
"How terribly dramatic," she murmured.
Reginald stopped directly in front of Eleanor. The space between them was close enough to feel each other's breath. But there was no warmth left between them.
Only emptiness.
"You know," Reginald said quietly, "I almost hoped you'd beg."
Eleanor held his gaze. "I've run out of reasons to."
Reginald smiled faintly and then, without warning, the sword moved.
Eleanor felt something sharp tear through her, the cold of the metal followed almost instantly by a spreading heat that stole her breath and set her body trembling. She looked down, and saw the blade buried in her chest. Blood seeped out, trailing slowly through the folds of her gown.
"Ah…" The sound slipped from her lips before she could stop it.
Reginald exhaled shortly, watching her without expression. "As it turns out… not that difficult."
Eleanor staggered back one step. Her legs felt weak beneath her, but she was still standing.
Strangely, the physical pain wasn't the worst of it.
The worst of it was the truth.
"You…" Her breath caught, her voice already fading. "You actually… did it…"
Reginald released the sword, leaving Eleanor's body supported by the blade still lodged inside her.
"It's done," he said coldly.
Eleanor sank to her knees.
Her hands shook as they pressed against her own chest, feeling the warmth of blood that kept coming. Every breath was heavy, as though something was pressing down on her lungs from within.
But her eyes, her eyes were still open. Still aware.
Seraphina watched from a distance, her expression unchanged. "A fitting end," she said softly.
Eleanor laughed.
It was weak and broken, but it was there.
"Fitting…?" she echoed, barely a sound.
She lifted her face slowly. Her gaze was no longer fixed on Reginald or Seraphina.
It was fixed upward, on the high vaulted ceiling, on the candles flickering like stars on the verge of going out.
"Is this… really how it ends…?" she whispered.
No one answered. The world around her was beginning to blur, voices fading to a distant hum.
But in what remained of her consciousness, something stirred not fear, not regret, but something with an edge to it.
Resolve.
"If… this is truly my end…" Her breath broke apart, but she forced the words through anyway.
Blood flowed faster now, yet her eyes stayed open, fixed upward, holding something that couldn't be extinguished.
"God…" she whispered.
The room went utterly still.
Even the nobles who had been bold enough to watch held their breath.
As if they understood, these words were going to be something more than last words.
"If You… give me a second chance…" Eleanor's voice was fading, but every word remained clear.
Her fingers clawed at the cold marble floor, trembling.
"I will… change this fate…"
Reginald's brow tightened slightly, unsettled by something he couldn't name.
Eleanor drew what felt like her last breath, struggling.
"I will make them pay…" she continued, her eyes losing focus but the fire behind them did not go out.
"For my family…"
For the first time, Seraphina's expression shifted just slightly. A flicker of discomfort.
And with the very last of what she had, Eleanor breathed:
"I will make sure… there is never another girl… who suffers… the way I did…"
Her hand went slack. Her body fell to one side.
Silence. A silence that was absolute.
Reginald stared at her for a moment, his face unreadable. "It's over." But for a fraction of a second brief, almost imperceptible, something felt wrong to him. Off in a way he couldn't explain.
Seraphina looked away. "We've wasted enough time."
Reginald gave a slow nod. But there on the cold marble floor, amid the blood and the ruin, something had been born not life, not death.
A vow. And that vow would never disappear.
"Clean this up."
Reginald's voice cut through the hanging silence, cold and hollow, shattering the stillness that had settled over the hall. The guards moved at once, their footsteps heavy but quick, as though desperate to erase every trace of that bloody night. Bodies were removed, floors were cleaned yet something remained. Not blood. Something in the air itself.
The nobles began to stir slowly; some bowed their heads in silence, others attempted to reassemble their composure. But their eyes gave them away. Fear had taken root.
"The party is over," Reginald said simply.
Seraphina stepped closer, her fingers resting lightly against his arm. "And a new beginning has started," she said softly, as though everything that had happened was simply part of the evening's festivities.
Reginald didn't look at her. His gaze remained on the spot where Eleanor had lain moments ago. Something was nagging at him, though he had no desire to give it any ground.
"She shouldn't have looked like that," he said quietly.
Seraphina raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"
Reginald was silent for a moment. "Like she wasn't afraid."
Seraphina smiled faintly, with a touch of dismissal. "That's just the last illusion of a dying person. They often seem braver than they really are."
But Reginald didn't answer right away. In his mind, Eleanor's gaze in those final moments kept coming back to him. It hadn't been the gaze of someone defeated.
It had been the gaze of someone making a promise.
"Make sure every witness stays quiet," he said at last.
The guards nodded immediately.
Outside the palace, the night wind picked up, blowing harder. Dark clouds swallowed the sky, and lightning cracked intermittently, flooding the towers of Eldoria with sharp, fleeting light.
As though the sky itself was watching.
"Are you really worried?" Seraphina asked, studying him with quiet curiosity.
Reginald shook his head slowly. "No. The dead can't do anything."
But deep within him, something didn't sit completely right.
And somewhere else, somewhere unseen, in the thin space between life and death, a consciousness was slowly stirring.
"This isn't over…" whispered a voice that was barely a sound.
Darkness swallowed everything. But within that darkness, something had begun to pulse again, a chance, a new beginning.
And an unfinished revenge.