*

  Beneath the oak, her silence broke, A shattered will, the shadows spoke. No fight remained, no hope to mend, In darkness deep, she found her end.

  *

  ---

  Three years had passed since her scream shattered the air, fracturing this fragile sanctuary she had built within herself. For three short years, she had sat beneath the oak tree, motionless and silent, while her dream world decayed around her.

  For three years, I watched her crumble. Her sanctuary crumble. I watched her from the shadows of the dream, just as I always had.

  Every tear she shed, every shudder of her body as she sat motionless under the oak tree, sent waves of delight through me. There was something so exquisitely beautiful about watching someone so strong, so defiant, lose themselves inch by inch. Her ughter, the first sound she’d made since that agonizing scream was the signal I had been waiting for.

  It was no ordinary ugh. It rang through the twisted air like a jagged knife, equal parts despair and mania. It echoed through the broken dreamscape, bouncing off the bckened branches of the dying oak, reverberating like a symphony of torment. And all I could do was savor it.

  Oh, how far she had fallen.

  I watched her from the shadows as the tears began to roll down her face, glistening in the blood-red light of the corrupted sky. Each tear was a testament to her suffering, a culmination of years of torment that had finally broken her resolve.

  Her body trembled as she pressed her hands to her face, her sobs breaking through her ughter, only to dissolve into something hollow, a silence that carried the weight of surrender.

  Oh, how I cherished this silence.

  I let it stretch, drinking in the scene before me. For three years in this dreamscape, she had been little more than a statue, sitting beneath that cursed tree, her presence radiating resistance even in her stillness. But now… now that was gone.

  The final barrier she had so desperately clung to was shattering, and I could feel it. Her once unyielding will was now nothing more than fractured pieces scattered across the dying ground.

  ….

  I moved closer, slow and deliberate. There was no rush. The air around her pulsed with the weight of her despair, a thick, intoxicating force that clung to my skin and filled my lungs like the sweetest poison.

  Her silver hair hung limp, streaked with shadows cast by the branches above. Her once-bright eyes, always so defiant, stared bnkly ahead, gssy with exhaustion. This was her breaking point, and I wanted to be there for every single second of it.

  She had resisted me at every turn, defied every whisper, every temptation. She had clung to the idea of hope, of love, of something worth fighting for.

  But now, after all these years, she was mine.

  The ground beneath my feet cracked as I approached, the sound like brittle bones snapping in the oppressive silence. She didn’t flinch, didn’t acknowledge me. Not yet.

  …

  Her voice, when it finally came, was soft, almost lost in the stillness.

  “Is this what it feels like for you?” she asked, her tone hollow. “To give in? To let go?”

  Ah, that voice. I had waited so long to hear it again, to hear her speak directly to me. It sent a shiver down my spine, a delicious thrill that made the darkness within me hum with pleasure.

  Soft.

  Broken.

  Defeated.

  I didn’t respond. Not with words, at least. I moved closer, savoring every step, every moment of her defeat.

  “It’s… freeing,” she continued, her voice trembling. “To stop fighting. To just… fall.”

  The words seemed to pull the dream itself taut, the air growing denser, carrying a faint charge like the aftermath of a storm. Beneath her, the brittle earth groaned softly, as if succumbing alongside her.

  It was a broken kind of acceptance, a resignation that tasted sweeter than any victory I could have imagined.

  I knelt beside her, close enough to feel the faint warmth of her presence, though she still didn’t look at me. Her hands were clenched tightly in her p, her nails digging into her palms as though trying to ground herself in the only way she could.

  “I thought… maybe, if I held on long enough, someone would come,” she whispered, more to herself than to me. “That someone would love me… save me. But no one did. No one ever does.”

  Her hands clenched into fists where they rested on her knees, her nails digging into her skin.

  “I thought…” she continued, her voice cracking, “I thought I could hold on. But there’s nothing left to hold on to, is there? Not in this world. Not in any world.”

  Her words were ced with a bitterness that made my smile widen. This was it. This was what I had been waiting for.

  “You’ve been there the whole time, haven’t you?” she said, her voice trembling. “Watching. Waiting. Enjoying this.”

  I didn’t answer.

  Her head tilted slightly, just enough for her to catch the faintest glimpse of me out of the corner of her eye.

  The silence stretched between us, heavy and oppressive, but I let it linger. I wanted to hear more, wanted to taste every ounce of her despair.

  “I’m tired,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “Tired of fighting. Tired of holding on.”

  Her shoulders shook as another sob wracked her body, but she quickly smothered it, as though even in her broken state, she was still trying to maintain some sembnce of control.

  A faint breeze whispered through the shattered dreamscape, carrying with it a chill that seemed to seep into her very soul. Her hands unclenched, her fingers brushing the cracked, brittle ground. The tension drained from her body, leaving her slumped and exposed beneath the gnarled branches of the oak tree.

  The air grew heavier around us, thick with the scent of damp earth and something sharp, metallic, a harbinger of the power that was beginning to stir.

  “Show me,” she said suddenly, her voice stronger now, though still trembling.

  That caught my attention. I tilted my head, watching her with a curious intensity.

  “Show me,” she repeated, her voice rising. “Show me what it’s like. That power. That darkness. Show me why it’s so tempting.”

  I didn’t answer, not with words. Instead, I reached out, letting my fingers trail along the brittle grass at her feet. The ground pulsed beneath my touch, a faint echo of the power that was beginning to seep into this world, into her.

  She finally turned her head to look at me, and the sight of her eyes, those once-bright, defiant eyes now clouded with despair, sent a thrill through me.

  “You were right,” she said, her voice a broken whisper. “About everything.”

  Oh, how sweet those words were, sweeter than any scream or sob she had ever given me.

  She lifted a hand, trembling slightly, as though reaching for something unseen. The movement was small, hesitant, but it carried the weight of a decision that could not be undone.

  “I can’t do it anymore,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to hope. Just… show me.”

  I leaned closer, close enough that the shadows of this broken world seemed to reach out and wrap around us like a shroud.

  “Are you sure, little one?” I asked, my voice a low purr. “Once you give in, there’s no going back.”

  For a moment, she was silent, her breath hitching as the chill in the air deepened, wrapping around her like a second skin. Her fingers twitched against the ground, the movement almost imperceptible, as if testing the edges of her own resolve.

  Then Her lips parted, and a slow, shuddering exhale escaped her, carrying with it the st vestiges of her resistance.

  “I don’t care,” she said. “I’m done.”

  The words fell like a stone into the abyss between us, shattering the stillness and sending ripples of satisfaction coursing through me.

  I reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, my touch light but deliberate. Her skin, pale and cool, seemed to draw the darkness closer, inviting it in as her defenses crumbled completely.

  “Good,” I said softly, my voice dripping with dark promise.

  I rose to my feet, my gaze never leaving her as I stepped back, letting the darkness of this world close in around us.

  Her ughter began again, softer this time, but no less haunting. It echoed through the broken ndscape, a symphony of despair that was quickly becoming something else entirely.

  It was becoming power.

  Queen