The Midnight Before Me

by Elizabeth Lo

So just don’t do it… one croons.

  All you have to do… is…

  Chevalier Galviton, her husband and current king of the country, flashes in her mind. Fat, foolish, and dumber than a chicken.

  Kill him.

  Why do you even want to meddle in my business? She shoots back.

  Why? Comes the reply. Because, Glorieux, we are all one. We all know everything about each other. Don’t deny our existence.

  That’s not a reason, she spits. I didn’t ask for you to come into my head.

  Oh, but you did. You’re the one who did this to us.

  Without realizing, warm liquid starts dripping down her hand. Blood from digging her nails too far into the flesh of her palm.

  No. I didn’t ask for any of you! She screams in her mind.

  The wind cools the blood on her hand, and she lifts it to her mouth to lick it off.

  Not even me? A voice, a painfully familiar voice, cuts into her mind, and leaves her frozen, the tip of her tongue just millimeters away from the glistening, cold drop of blood.

  A heavy weight catches in her throat, and she takes a deep breath to try and swallow it down.

  Soren. He’s been quiet lately. Maybe the buzz of the other seven voices has been overpowering his.

  “N-not… even you…” she says out loud, the wind almost whisking her voice away.

  Why?

  “Now, you’re just as restricted as I am, if not more, Soren. I never wanted that for you. You…” Her arms wrap tightly around herself as if she could contain everything inside of her.

  Don’t be sad, Glorie. I’m not dead yet, thanks to you.

  “No. You were the one person I wanted to protect. To keep you free in your own world—safe… safe from mine. Yet here you are. Because of me.”

  Blood drips all the way down her arm to the stone her hand is resting on, and her bleeding hand starts to sting faintly before Soren answers.

  That’s why I have a plan, he says. Even though his voice sounds like almost any other passing thought in her head, she can hear the playfulness that she loved so much still in his voice.

  But as she relishes hearing him, more numbness starts spreading through her. And it’s not numbness from the cold.

  She realizes what’s happening a beat too late. Her hands and feet are already gone. She can’t feel them. Her arms feel like they’re moving through water… no, mercury.

  She’s losing control.

  “No,” she says, almost losing her balance on the ledge of the roof.

  Without blinking, a Teleport almost slams her nose into the hard wood of the roof’s entrance. Dashing down the stairs in a frenzy, she can only continuously repeat “no” in her head as steps fly out from underneath her feet.

  Maids give her strange glances as she dashes by, but she ignores them as she violently hurls her bedroom door open with a bang, barely remembering to yank it closed. Desperately, she clambers for the chair resting in the middle of the room.

  It looks like a prisoner’s chair, one for interrogating a criminal. Magic-limiting leather straps lace up and around it, belt buckles ready for her to tighten them around herself.

  But before she can even sit down in the chair, the numbness takes over, just like before. Her legs stop moving.

  Glorie, Glorie, Soren sings through her body, louder and louder with every second she stumbles towards the chair. You were always so easily frightened. I know you’re scared. I know you’re scared of what might happen.

  She was too slow. Her hands are beyond her control. Her legs buckle. She slips back into her own mind, falling asleep with her eyes wide open. Her arms move on their own, grabbing the chair to keep her head from hitting the armrest.

  But you know what, he continues. Soren doesn’t sound like himself. His voice is almost faintly distorted. You were also someone I wanted to protect. Someone I wanted to free from her own chains. So let me.

  No, Glorieux vaguely thinks. You can’t… I can’t ever… break free… from this life… of…

  Soren chuckles.

  But you want it, don’t you? What kind of lover am I if I can’t even give my love my all?

  Her mind is still in a mess—she has to do something. She can’t just completely fade back into the darkness. Part of her is indeed scared to see what happens, but part of her is strangely excited to see what happens. And so, instead of falling back, she decides to sit in the copilot seat right along with Soren.

  Blinking the leftover fogginess away, the body of Glorieux pushes itself back up, heading towards the door.

  It’s widely accepted that perfection is unrealistic. And yet, people wish it from her. Always. It’s not even a wish anymore. It’s an expectation. They expect it from her even if they never say it.

  She expects it from herself.

  It’s the one thing she has always thought she can never break free from—the expectation. Because with it, comes her endless torment. But without it, she is nothing.

  Despite knowing this, the body of Glorieux still strides down the hallway, the dried blood on her arms, a beginning stain on her reputation.

  It won’t be dry for long.

  Glorieux has one daughter, Gracieux. Perhaps the last alive person left whom she still cares about. Even the little boy with silver hair that he got from neither his father nor his mother has now slipped from her crumbling mind. Sporting slightly gold, mostly white hair, Gracieux, merely fourteen years old, walks calmly down the hallway with her entourage, her eyes just as dead as Glorieux’s were at fourteen.

  “Mother,” Gracieux says with a polite nod of her head and the usual close-lipped smile.

  Glorieux ignores her, glancing past her. The office where the king normally eats his lunch is just ahead, marked by its particularly less extravagant door.

  “Mother?” Gracieux cuts in again.

  Biting her lip for a split second, Glorieux gives Gracieux her own tight smile.

  “Sorry, dear. I wasn’t paying attention for a second. Please. Pay no mind to me…”

  Gracieux nods reluctantly then continues on her way. Her eyes flutter down to the lines of dried blood running down Glorieux’s arms as she goes, but her entourage quickly blocks her view as they scuttle away from Glorieux. Queen Glorieux is the type of thing that can’t be touched, only looked at—like a prized vase in a museum.

  When she finally hears their steps disappear, she resumes her mission once more. She’s just steps away from the door. Her breath starts calming as a strange feeling comes over her. The calm before the storm. The knowledge that this might be her last peaceful moment in life. Ever.

  Weak light streams through the tall windows facing the downslope of Galviton, catching the stained glass up above and casting dancing colors along the upper half of the corridor. Though the exterior of the castle is rather unpleasant, the inside is lined with cream wallpaper and delicate designs that glitter slightly in the cloudy morning.

  She can’t help but shake slightly when she finally places her hand on the handle of the door. She can’t help but draw a quivering, excited breath when the door easily opens and reveals the simple study with dull brown furniture and a table pushed off to the side draped in a white tablecloth. She can’t help but clench her hands as she glides over to it and runs her good hand along the wooden handle of the steak knife on King Chevalier Galviton’s right hand side.

  “What on earth…” he stutters. His confused brown eyes meet her smiling silver ones. How she hates that mop of yellow-ish hair on his head. Only the Galvitonian Kings have it, and it’s a symbol of power over Glorieux with her inferior white hair.

  But he doesn’t get another cohesive word out as the blade stabs down into his neck. Into that inviting, pulsing blood vessel running up his neck. The blood spurts out in rivers, satisfyingly gushing onto Glorieux’s icy-white skin and blemishing its perfect complexion. He gurgles and shakes, his eyes rolling back into his head.

  “Let’s make this quick, shall we?” she says.

  Kill
. The word resonates in her mind. Kill, kill, kill, kill, KILL!

  Yes, more…

  Unwittingly smiling, Glorieux splatters the pristine white tablecloth with an explosion of red as she creates a long gash down the king’s torso in one quick downward stroke.

  Blood pours out of the wound, and the life of Chevalier Galviton leaves his body.

  “Steak’s for dinner tonight.” She smiles sweetly as if they just had a casual conversation.

  But inside, her own blood is racing, and exhilaration takes over her limbs.

  It’s satisfying to look at. To celebrate this feeling of control again.

  Freedom. Is this what it feels like?

  This feeling of imperfection as she looks at her sticky, red arms. At first, she feels sick.

  Then she feels an unnerving amount of electricity pass through her as she feels alive. Not just going through the motions anymore—alive. This wonderful feeling of choice. No more. No more perfection.

  A small familiar pulse of magic fills the room. Someone else is here.

  It was already out of pure luck that he was alone at this moment. Such a messy death will send the palace into chaos. His attendants will soon come back, and Glorieux will be discovered.

  And now, the realization has dawned on Glorieux: She can’t have any witnesses. At all. Otherwise, she could activate the curse again.

  Whispers start building in her mind again. Those voices cloud her mind and keep her from thinking properly. They’re always there. They’ve been there for so long that she only notices them when they are really agitated. So agitated, they overpower her own thoughts.

  She doesn’t even have time to tamp them back down—the magic starts pulsing through her body again, pushing past her limit. Spirits equal magic energy, and with nine of them inside of her, including herself, the potential amount of power in her is overwhelming.

  But something is different about this power influx. This time, it’s not just a little wave. No, this time, the souls within her have finally banded together to fuse their magic with hers—leaking into her own soul. Glorieux is no longer stopping them. No, this time, she’s allowing them, welcoming them, letting their magic pour in with open arms.

  The knife drops onto the carpet, staining it with a little red streak as Glorieux keels over from the overwhelming surge of energy filling her veins.

  There’s no going back, princess, one of them warns.

  But he joins the fun anyway.

  She’s buzzing all over. Her eyes sharpen while blurring over with dizziness. She can hear everything so clear it practically cuts her with its broken-glass clarity. When she looks at her hands, she savors the sight of the wet red sleeves covering her hands like those of a demon.

  She’s changing, and she can’t tell if it’s a good or bad thing.

  The wound on her palm fades instantly—with such an amount of magic power, Regeneration comes easily, and now, she feels it. It’s just an automatic reaction now, healing everything except her own broken self inside.

  Slight doubt comes over her again. That uncertainty once again stops her from bursting out of this dreary castle in one blast.

  Are you sure? She asks herself. Or maybe she asks Soren.

  Laughter fills the room. Loud, boisterous, that of someone who just reached solid ground after floating in the sea for years.

  No. This isn’t a mistake. This definitely is not a mistake.

  Right?

  Someone gasps from outside, cutting off her bliss. Clicking her tongue, fire bursts forth from Glorieux’s hand, disintegrating papers and documents as it goes and meets its victim outside the door.

  A voice screams outside of the door. At first, she laughs more, but then Glorieux recognizes that scream.

  No. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be, right?

  Her small feet pad across the room. Flames lick a silken white nightgown and blacken clear buttery strands of hair. The scream becomes Glorieux’s as she looks at the body in shock, and her still-hot hands come to her face. Her body sinks to the ground as the world seems to cave in on her. Guards start running frantically towards her from both sides of the hallway.

  “Your Majesty, are you all right? What…”

  “Intruder! We have an intruder!”

  “The princess has been killed!”

  But behind those hands, a smile is starting to surface. Warmth builds in her belly, and a radius of fire starts developing around her—disintegrating those delicate, cream wallpapers off of the wall to reveal the ugly wood and stone underneath.

  Yes. We have won, they whisper inside of her.

  It’s over. Glorieux’s fight with herself and her inner demons is over. She’s ready to accept everything they have to offer.

  Yes, Glorieux. It’s time to break free.

  Because right in front of her is the burnt, dead body of little Gracieux Galviton. That girl—even she was an obstacle to obtaining freedom. What is freedom to Glorieux? Control. Having control over her own life.

  And that means eliminating everyone who tries to take that away from her.

  So finally, she lets go of that doubt.

  The final anchor has been lifted. The ship—she is ours.

  Chapter Three

  Midnight

  A few days later…

  “Hurry up, Midnight! For someone who can Teleport, you’re so slow!”

  “I’m coming, I’m coming, Marcie. Ah—wait up!”

  A congregation of people lazily shuffle beside us towards the direction of Town Square. Despite the fact that town meetings usually bring good news, both the townspeople and the gray overcast skies seem dismal.

  Well, at least I have Marcie with me for now.

  “What’re you bringing me here for?” I complain. “It’s okay. I’m fine, Marcie.”

  “No, no, you don’t understand, Mid. This is important. We need to keep tabs on what’s going on. You want to find your brother, right?”

  “I don’t think there will be any news specifically about Black,” I say, keeping my eyes glued towards the ground.

  “You never know, Middie.” She smiles with that usual sunshine smile of hers. “Though, I’m surprised you still call him that. Didn’t you come up with that name when you were like five?”

  “Yeah. But the ‘Ruined Boy’ shouldn’t have been considered a name in the first place.”

  “You should come up with a better name than ‘Black.’”

  “No need.”

  We continue through the town, trying to push through the busy streets. Some people even bother to buy a few goods left and right, only condensing the traffic flow even more.

  “Every time you see your brother on the list of weekly announcers, you jump to go,” I say, trying my best to match her smile. “But it’s always a fifty-fifty chance that he’ll actually announce anything.”

  “Hmmm… You’re wrong again, Middie. I go regardless of my brother, and sometimes I drag you along.” She laughs playfully and continues skipping down the road, her dark raspberry hair bouncing around in my face.

  I can’t see any of the topics that would be covered for the week… Or even the ragtag group of boys that usually set up a wooden crate in the middle of town to make the announcements. But somehow it seems oddly more clumped and crowded than usual.

  Instead, there’s a different wooden structure in the middle of the Square. But from so far away and surrounded by so many people, I can’t see what it is.

  I wonder distantly where the usual housewives’ chatter or the familiar, “Hey, how’s it going?” is. What little I can hear are only nervous whispers and darting glances floating through the air unable to be traced. Everyone is too distracted to let Marcie and I through. But the whispering grows louder and louder the closer we get.

  A voice booms over us from a vocal box with more power than all of our town’s usual speakers combined. “Settle down now, folks. I have some important news to cover today.”

  I try tippy-toes, jumping, pushing through
the crowd… Nothing works. The voice announcing to us is new—much more seasoned and commanding compared to the usual young voice of Marcie’s brother or his colleagues. The most I can see of the speaker is the top of a balding head standing in the middle of the crowd on something much taller than a wooden crate.

  “Hello, folks… Good to see you all here today…” he says. “I’m a general of the Imperial Forces, Beauregard Falcon…”

  No one is actually paying attention to him. Their attention is elsewhere. Towards that wooden structure.

  Where is Black during a time like this? It’s been a week now with no sign of him.

  “I have big news today,” the mysterious announcer bellows again, demanding the attention of the crowd. “We have caught a traitor recently—from this very town. Charged with first-degree murder of the revered magician…”

  Murder…?

  “…Felicius Harvey.”

  Time stops the moment that name rings in my ears. A suspicion I don’t want to be true grows inside me. I push harder through the crowd.

  No… No, no, no…

  “You all know.” he snarls. “It was the Ruined Boy.”

  “No!” The word escapes my mouth before I can stop it.

  Eyes turn to me. Uncaring, expectant eyes. My heart races, my head spins, again, and I almost collapse on the spot.

  Stop looking. Not again. Stop looking at me.

  A hand extends in front of me. Marcie.

  “Come on,” she says, her face taut for once. “I’m sure it’s nothing…”

  Together we shove through people one by one until we make it to the foot of the menacing monstrosity.

  Both my jaw and my stomach drop in horror. A single noose hangs from a wooden beam. The teal-haired General. One stool. Three soldiers. And one black-haired prisoner.

  “Midnight, what is… Oh.”

  There stands Black, a defiant look smeared on his face as he looks over the town. He doesn’t look scared… He looks ready. His crimson eyes looking at the noose are those of a tiger looking at the flaming hoop it needs to jump through.

  Black catches sight of me. Those dark eyes widen. I think he mouths, “Go home” to me. The commander slowly walks from one end of the platform to the other.