The Criswell's Curse

Ophelia’s memories, 7th Life

“How do you plea?” The king’s voice echoed through the public square.

As if mocking me, the agglomeration of whispers sailed with the breeze. The chains that held my thin wrists clashed against each other, forcing sharp sound to earn their place in consciousness of all the amused bystanders.

“Answer.” He said, once again.

I chuckled as my dried-out throat could not utter a single word. The long raven hair once stealing all the light from the sun had disappeared, leaving my head almost naked, perfect for an execution. My bones ached as the wind clashed against my skin, reminding me of my barely existent muscles. The clothes surrounding my figure - if one could call them that - were thin pieces of fabric messily tied together, warming too little of my already weak body. Weeks of starvation made my stomach eat itself, as it yearned for any type of nutrient, for any type of fuel to keep going.

“You insolent!” The guard grabbed my head, pulling it up upwards abruptly. “Answer to His Royal Highness right this instant!”

The crowd gasped, seeing my severely bruised face, courtesy of long months of torture and abuse. Dark purple bruises surrounded my cheeks, redness swallowed my eyes as they hung above two heavy eye bags.

People stared at me, as if watching a theatrical exhibition, a freak from one of those foreigner circuses; they also murmured devious words, cursing me with all the bones in their bodies. Some laughs rung in my ears. It seemed I was the laughingstock of the high nobles, standing on the balconies above, thinking of themselves as the mighty of the lot.

I glared at them. To my so-called father with his heartless eyes filled with disgust and disappointment; to my sister’s proud grin as she held Bradley in her arm, chuckling at my demise; to the prince with an unperceivably stony expression.

Besides a handful of nobles who appeared to pity me, as if they feared to be in my shoes someday, all other gazes burned into my flesh, hoping not to miss even a second of such entertainment. But it was alright, since long ago my soul had come to terms with its fate, knowing that from the moment the guards stormed into the Criswell’s estate, taking me prisoner into the royal palace dungeon, such destiny was bound to come to be. I had accepted the villain’s ultimate demise, The Execution of the Black Widow, they called it.

It didn’t matter what I plead as all the proofs came back to me. Someone or something made sure of such. Yet, even after being tortured, suffering through starvation and stripped from everything that was once considered mine, happiness filled me. I was relieved that for once, my fate wasn’t bounded by that curse, by the monstrosity of the fire.

“Is something funny?” Blake questioned, seeing the smile spreading across my cheeks.

“Your Grace, I think she has gone insane...” The king’s aide commented loud enough for the buzz to increase its volume. People truly loved gossip soaked in the misery of another.

The red-haired man got up from his seat, walking to the edge of the balcony. His cold-blooded eyes glaring at me, straight from above. “I will ask you one last time, Ophelia Criswell, how do you plea?”

I laughed loudly, causing the whispers to grow quiet, the environment to grow heavy.

“Guilty.” Blake’s eyes widened at my statement. Maybe he thought I would try to fight this, thinking that perhaps this had been a plot and maybe, just maybe, my innocence could yet still be proved. Or maybe he couldn’t comprehend why my being smiled so peacefully, so joyfully for having such a merciful end. “Please... give me my deserving punishment.”

“I see...” His voice was louder than ever before. It was easy to see he was about to use me as a setting example for the rebelling nobles, the ones that kept on supporting the fallen queen and her second son. “By Divinity’s will, I hereby declare Ophelia Criswell guilty of the murder of Terrel Wharton and Layton Verne. Behead her!”

The guard grabbed my arms, pushing my body onto the cold wooden plank. Their overwhelming strength was keeping me pinned down but, the truth was, I didn’t intend to fight nor run away.

I glanced at them one last time. Bradley’s eyes locked on the horizon, as if he didn’t wish to see such a scene; Mace simply pitied me from the corner of the balcony, knowing full well why such murders had to occur. Edgar was bed-ridden, probably in denial that his beloved daughter-in-law could commit such atrocious acts.

Dark was setting itself in, as the sun voyaged to its rightful rest on the horizon. Night was arriving, mercilessly. Someone sharpened the axe, right next to my ear. This was their last torturing amusement, their last hypocritical act - at least with me. A tear left my eye as I smiled in pure relief.

For the first time in so long, this burden, this curse would cease to exist, freeing me from such awful destiny. For once my life would end in my own terms, not by the will of the flames. Deep down, my soul could already taste the sweet sensation of a peaceful death, the one all of us should be able to go through, not having the chance to come back again.

I heard the guard’s footsteps closer to me, his muscular body next to mine. It was time.

Accepting my fate, my eyes closed, and my lungs took their last breath.

“Your Highness!” A man yelled loudly as a harsh breeze suddenly blew. The crowd gasped, someone fell on the floor, a sharp pain striking my right arm.

An arrow rested on my body, a small flame on its tip. I smelled it, the powerful scent of oil. The flame grew larger; my eyes widened. My clothes were highly inflammable, causing the fire to spread quickly, reaching my skin just some moments later.

“Your Highness! Please!” I dashed my body forward as the guards who had once pinned me down had backed away. The chains, however, kept me from moving too much keeping me stuck in a wooden platform, a perfect fuel for a blaze to thrive.

Blake appeared, straightening his attire from having fallen on the ground. At that moment, everything became clear. This arrow wasn’t mine to take and yet, mother nature lured it to me. Ah! The irony.

“Please! Kill me!” My rough voice yelled as loud as it could. Despair running through my veins as I inhaled the stinging aroma of my burning flesh.

“Your Grace, we must go!” The aide grabbed the king’s torso, pulling him away from the balcony, attempting to take him to safety.

Tears fell from my face, rolling down my cheeks but quickly being dried by the intense heat of the flames. All he needed to do was give the order, have someone quickly decapitate me, have someone strike their blade through my aching heart. Anything would do, anything but this.

“Please! My King!” My wrists bled intensely as I tried to escape the chains, as I tried to grab the axe laying on the floor.

But Blake simply observed me, astonished, confused, conflicted.

“Your Highness!” His aide yelled again.

As my vision became blurred by overflowing tears, I saw it. My family glancing down at me, faces tainted with disdain; people laughing, cheering for my intense suffering getting their so-called entertainment and the king watching, as my skin melted, leaving only my bones for the dogs to feed upon

That man ignored my pain, my sole call for help, my suffering. He was taken away, without giving the order, without granting me any mercy. Anger burned inside me, far more intensely than any blaze surrounding my body. It was as if the flames were being consumed by my soul, embraced by the darkness within.

I wished to see their souls suffering, begging for despair, praying for the grace of a selfish God. I wanted everyone to feel the same pain as I did.