Chapter V

03/01/31

Woe! the news I have received. My love, Antoinette, slain by the hands of filthy bandits; filthy, worthless, insignificant, detestable, vile, dirt lickers. I wish to find them personally and bring hell early for them: lock them in the dungeon, peel the skin securing their fingernails, watching them fall to the floor 'til their toenails are removed as well; their eyeballs gouged and feasted to them so they can persist for further punishment; limbs cut once a day by a knife, trimming at the joints, stretching the fear of their legs or arms being pulled by gravity to the floor, the tearing of their muscles as it happens, the screams of agony they will release; hair plucked one by one, their bare scalp then shaven of its pink; baths of fire to cleanse them of their sins, which there are too many to burn in an eternity. I wish to enact all of it and more upon them, more than the Demons themselves could devise; yet I should not, I would not, I, I could not. While I, an unwise human lacking the wisdom of eternal beings, can dream of punishment in my contorted soul, trapped inside my skull, I must not act upon them. I my not be a spouse any longer, but I am still a father. What father would expose their precious flowering bud to the insides of hell, instead of the glories of heaven? A fool. Foolishness is inherent to all humans, I will not succumb to it, however. Strong; yes, strong is what I must be. My sweet Antoinette did not marry the runt of the litter; she married me, a king. What king is a runt? A fool. What will I not be? A fool.

Rose, you will not hear of your mother's passing for some time. I am yet to discern which option is best: teaching you of death so young, or letting you teach yourself. To teach is the role of a parent, but I am afraid; I fear my impurities, I fear I am not good enough for you, my sweet, sweet, Rose. No; I am not good enough for you, I know that. Nor Antoinette. My acquirement of her hand in marriage was solely due to my predestined power. How can I, a chosen king – not a proven one –, ever claim to be worthy to marry one of God's servants, and to call one as heavenly as Ira as my child?

Sorry, Rose. My will has failed. Death is something I will never teach you. Neither will the butlers, the maids, or the guards. Our family will not be able to utter the word or its substitutes. One utterance around your ears and they will no longer be a part of our family. Please forgive me Rose. I am not wise enough, I am not strong enough, I am not good enough for you.

04/01/31

I have set today as a national day of mourning for Antoinette. Whether this is what she wanted, I am not sure. It is what I need. Tears cease to stop since those words reached my ears. Others must understand my absence and spend time worshipping you as I have for as long as I have deemed my life meaningful. My family must understand our emptiness. God, Ira, either, both; save us from our emptiness. We are united more than ever, yet a noose hangs over all of us, waiting to take us away. Help me, help me, just help me. I am a wreck; my child cast to my maids as I do not want her to see my face. If she was to see my face the Rose will wilt; if she wilts, I die. An existence without one is unbearable; an existence without either is impossible.

I must run away from this shadow haunting me. Only childish ignorance can save me now. Maybe I resume those walks through town? Marcus, perhaps. He has been through difficult times with smiles; perhaps it is he who I should draw wisdom from. My family, my family is who I must turn to, not God or Ira. I should know they are busy; my family never sleeps. As I will always be there for them, they will always be there for me. To Marcus it is. That is sure to cheer me up.

05/01/31

Cheer me up, it has not. I am more furious than ever. More so than the bandits, I despise the cancer of my family: Marcus.

I decide to surprise him, hoping to ignite my childish spirit once again. Waiting around the corner of his office, I overhear his conversation with a worker.

'What happened to Madame Antoinette is awful isn't it?'

'Yes, of course, but look on the Brightside.'

Look on the Brightside! What Brightside? The closest resemblance to one of God's first creations is brutally killed and you look on the Brightside. No side is bright. At her death, the sun stopped shining; all that is left is darkness, and you look on the Brightside.

'The Brightside?'

'Where else is there to look? With her death, all of her family's riches will be brought here and we'll all be swimming in gold.'

Gold? Gold! Gold is all you saw in her was it? How disrespectful? Antoinette was no measly gold, no meagre diamond, she surpassed all that. May it be your greed has risen? I gifted you happiness, all of it for nothing. You did not ask, I simply gave it to you; free of charge, free of work. Asides from speaking to me at the right time, your life has equalled nothing. It pains me, Marcus. It pains me oh so much to say this; you are dead to me Marcus. I thought, of all my family, you were the one to bring it closer to me; I thought you wise, I thought you strong, I thought you good; but no, you are nothing better than a filthy, worthless, insignificant, detestable, vile, dirt licker. How it would please me to throw you in the dungeon with the others, but at least they did not laugh at death. They were simply desperate for money for they were running dry; you had it all, the second richest in our family. No, not our family, my family, you are no longer a part of my family, you may live with the bandits.

06/01/31

Disloyal, that is what my family is. After my banishing of Marcus, I am touted a tyrant. A tyrant?! After all I had done for them: food, water; forget water, I bought a fountain of wine for them to drink from; I built I mine to bring them gems and bounty; happiness, I brought them happiness, a happiness they lacked during my Father's reign. A tyrant?! They should consider tyrant a good thing if that is what they wish to call me.

More chants for the gold that Antoinette's death carried. Gold, gold, gold. That is all these baby chicks want from their parent. Not food, gold. To they see this as a form of matriphagy, patriphagy. They feast on their father, the father who has wasted his potential as king to treat them as royals. Do they not understand that I have paid for every breath they have breathed?

My family is so small now, only my Rose and I. Fool, fool, fool; I am the fool I despised. To think those not related by blood would have any reason not to break our bonds. Curses. They demand gold; they shall not receive this. All my riches shall be bestowed upon Rose, she is the only one not to turn her back to me. She can have it all.