A Crimson Betrayal

• Stefanie Vlcek, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2013

No agonising pain, no white light—just numbness.
I lay on my ornate canopy bed, the silken sheets rumpled and cast aside. The evening light shone dimly from the open window, giving the room an air of mystery and secretiveness. The world was calm and peaceful around me, as if there were never such a thing as pain or torture, and yet I knew, as I looked into his sad grey eyes, that my part in this game was coming to a close. I had been betrayed.
My eyes fell upon the blade protruding from my abdomen, the blade of which he still held, clasped in both of his shaking hands. I could see the blood staining my partially unlaced corset, slowly spreading, threatening to gush out at any moment. Even so, there was no pain—a slight tingling from the area of my wound, but nothing more.
I looked back up at him, his handsome face filled with sorrow, his eyes announcing his fear. Never had I seen him so vulnerable: he had always been so sure of himself, almost to the point of foolhardiness. I remembered when his Majesty the king had thrown a ball for his queen on her name day—almost I lifetime ago, it seems now—and the very man looking at me with that stricken look, still sitting astride my body, had boldly stepped in front of one of the richest men in the kingdom’s eldest son, Willem Blackwoode, who was evidently about to ask myself for the favour of a dance. He asked me himself, making a big show of it by kneeling before me and kissing my hand, which greatly enraged Willem. He danced with me several times that night, always making sure to sweep me onto the dance floor before Willem had a chance to even pronounce a syllable in my direction. I was only the king’s illegitimate sister, to be sure, but it was nevertheless a slight toward the proud Blackwoodes.
“I am sorry,” he whispered, pulling my attention back toward him. The muscles of his bare chest tensed and tears welled in his eyes, threatening to fall, but there was a new determination to his look. “I had no choice.”
But he did have a choice: there were always choices, and he chose to believe the lies of those foul whisperers. I knew, in that moment, that he believed me to be conspiring against the king, to take the royal crown as my own.
And yet, despite the knowledge I had acquired, I felt no sudden outrage at his betrayal. I kept my eyes on his face as I reached out and clasped his hands, still holding onto the blade. His eyes widened in shock, and a wicked smile spread across my face. I pulled the blade from my body, blood gushing from the wound. He fell back, his face filled with horror, and a feeling of resolve washed over me.
I would have my revenge in the Afterlife.