Glass Child

As the chaos in the chamber reached its peak, the Emperor quickly took action, calling for the palace doctor with a sense of urgency. The doctor's arrival was swift, and he immediately began to tend to Theo and Axel, assessing their severe injuries and working to stabilize them. The scene was frenzied, with medical staff rushing about and the Emperor hovering over the injured, his face a mask of profound distress.

Meanwhile, Empress Lamaine was spiraling into a state of madness. Her mind was reeling from the revelations and the sight of her sons in such dire conditions. She was plagued by haunting flashbacks—memories of young Axel, his innocent face, and the harshness with which she had treated him. She recalled moments of cruelty and neglect, her actions driven by the false beliefs that had twisted her sense of family.

Her distress was interrupted by the Emperor's stern voice. "Lamaine!" he snapped, trying to bring her back to the present. "Look at what you've done!"

Lamaine's eyes were wild, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. She looked around, disoriented and overwhelmed by the enormity of her actions. "No, no! I did this for Theo! I did this for him!" Her voice was a desperate plea, but her words fell flat in the face of the Emperor's anger.

The Emperor's frustration boiled over. "I thought you loved our children equally. I thought you cared for them both, but you've let your obsession with Theo blind you to the truth. You've destroyed what you were meant to protect!"

Lamaine's face twisted with anger and confusion. "You lied to me! You manipulated me into believing that Theo and Bianca were my children, that I had to protect them at all costs!" Her voice was filled with accusation. "How could you expect me to love Axel when you kept him from me, made me believe he wasn't mine?"

The Emperor's eyes were cold, his anger mingled with a deep sadness. "You were given the truth only now. You were supposed to love and protect them both, not let your own fears and jealousy tear our family apart. Axel was always yours, Lamaine. And now you've nearly destroyed him and Theo because of it."

The Empress's rage flared, her emotions a volatile mix of anger and guilt. "You expect me to bear this alone? You were the one who created this monstrous lie! You're the one who tore our family apart!"

The Emperor's face darkened. "And you are the one who carried out the destruction. It was your actions that led to this tragedy. If you had truly loved our children, if you had truly cared for them, you wouldn't have let your jealousy and anger consume you."

As the doctor continued his work, the chamber fell into a tense silence, the weight of the Emperor's words hanging heavily in the air. Empress Lamaine's mind was in turmoil, the full scope of her actions crashing down upon her. Her pleas and accusations seemed hollow in the face of the Emperor's unwavering condemnation.

Lamaine looked at Axel and Theo, her heart torn between the remnants of her love and the devastation of her actions. Her screams and pleas became quieter, replaced by a deep, anguished silence as she grappled with the irreversible damage she had wrought.

The Emperor stood over her, his expression a grim testament to the gravity of the situation. "You've betrayed everything we were supposed to protect. Now, all we can do is hope that there's still a chance for redemption, for our children to be healed."

As the chaotic present slowly began to fade into a numbing silence, Empress Lamaine's gaze fell upon Axel, unconscious and fragile on the bed. Her heart ached with an intensity she hadn't felt in years, a complex storm of regret and sorrow that twisted her insides. Suddenly, she was transported back to a memory—a memory she had long buried beneath her cold exterior.

[flashback]

In the dim light of the Emperor's chamber, she could almost see it as if it were happening again. Axel, no more than seven years old, sat quietly in a corner, a small easel in front of him, his tiny hands holding a paintbrush with the delicate precision of someone much older. His brow was furrowed in concentration as he dipped the brush into a palette of vibrant colors, his focus entirely on the canvas before him.

The painting was of her. Young Axel, with his innocent eyes and quiet demeanor, had chosen her as his subject, and the likeness was striking. Every detail was captured with such care, from the soft waves of her hair to the subtle curve of her lips. It was a gift, a talent that even at such a young age was evident. He had an eye for beauty, a heart that saw the world in shades of color and light.

But she hadn't seen it then.

Instead, her attention had always been on Theo, who was frequently ill. Theo required care, attention, and protection, and she had convinced herself that Axel was strong enough to manage on his own. She told herself that Axel didn't need her in the same way Theo did, and so she neglected him, ignored the quiet pleas for attention that came in the form of his art. She had walked past him in that room so many times, barely sparing a glance at the boy with the paint-stained hands who only wanted to be seen by his mother.

There was one day in particular that haunted her. Axel had proudly presented one of his paintings to her—a portrait of her and Theo together. His eyes had been wide with hope, waiting for her approval. But she had barely looked at it, too distracted by Theo's latest fever, and had dismissed Axel with a curt nod, not noticing the way his little face fell in disappointment. The painting had been left in a corner, forgotten, just like her son.

[end of flashback]

Now, standing in the Emperor's chamber, the weight of that memory crashed down on her like a tidal wave. She had ignored his gift, his need for her, all because she had convinced herself that one child mattered more than the other. The pain of that realization was unbearable.

She knelt beside Axel, her fingers trembling as they hovered over his still hand. The boy who had once painted her with such love and care was now a man, lying unconscious because of her actions, because of her failure as a mother. Tears welled up in her eyes, the cold façade she had maintained for so long crumbling away as she faced the truth she had avoided for years.

"I'm sorry, my baby," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I'm so, so sorry."

As the doctor worked tirelessly to save Axel and Theo, the Empress's sobs filled the room, a mournful soundtrack to the grim reality of their broken family. The chamber, once a place of power and authority, was now a witness to the tragic collapse of the empire's heart.