The Widow’s Curse

by Lucas Flores

  “I’m a cursed widow!” the queen repeated.

  “You’re not cursed. Now stop your crying,” Blackheart said. She grabbed a sheet off the bed and covered the desiccated corpse.

  “I’ll cry if I want to,” the queen said. “This isn’t happening to you.” She picked up a small mirror and pointed to her reflection. “Look.” She angled the mirror so that Blackheart could see. “I don’t even recognize the woman looking back at me.” Her eyes puffed up. “I can’t even cry real tears!” she wailed with a huge childlike frown.

  “You look like this corpse,” Blackheart joked.

  The queen threw the mirror toward Blackheart. “I’m in no mood to joke around.”

  Blackheart stood next to the dead body and stared at her cousin. Now that she mentioned it, her appearance had changed. Her cheeks were sunken in and her skin was stretched tightly around her skull.

  “Well, if I’m not cursed then what’s wrong with me?” the queen asked. She got out of bed after Blackheart failed to answer. “Tell me what’s wrong with me?”

  “I’m sorry,” Blackheart replied. “I don’t know.”

  The queen stood in front of her cousin. In a deeper than usual voice, she again asked what was wrong. She covered her mouth and fell to her knees. “Something terrible is happening. And that’s not all,” she quietly confessed.

  “What’s not all?” Blackheart asked.

  The queen pouted. “I think I’m being visited. For the past few nights, something kept creeping in and crawling around the walls of my room. It moves back and forth in the darkness, like some kind of shadow person.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It makes some kind of noise, but I can’t make out what it is.” She reached out to her cousin.

  Blackheart kneeled down to hug the queen. In an attempt to comfort her cousin, she said softly, “They’re just nightmares. You’re just feeling a little sick. It’s normal to feel this way after giving birth. It will pass.”

  As the last words poured out of Blackheart’s mouth, the queen growled and aggressively pushed her away.

  “What was that for?” Blackheart shouted.

  “Don’t you dare remind me of that,” the queen warned. She stood up and hovered over Blackheart. “I’ll cut your head off myself.” She grabbed Blackheart by her collar and single-handedly lifted her off the ground. “Do you understand me, Elzana?”

  Blackheart squirmed.

  “I gave up my child for you, like everything else. And now I’m cursed. I don’t want anyone to know that I let you kill my daughter. Is that understood?”

  Blackheart realized that everybody in the palace knew that the queen had been pregnant and that she’d given birth. Of course people were going to ask about and talk about the baby, but now seemed like a bad time to remind her of that.

  “Speak, you good for nothing twit!” the queen screamed. After a moment of silence, she dropped Blackheart and turned away.

  Rattled, Blackheart drew back and rushed out of the room, leaving the queen alone with the corpse. Face flushed, she walked past the guards. “There’s a dead body in the room. Get rid of it. Oh, and leave the window open,” she said without stopping.

  Too upset to give any further instructions, Blackheart limped away to her own bedroom to salvage her appearance and what little pride she had left.

  “I need your assistance,” Blackheart said as she entered her bedroom and slammed the door behind her. She walked over to the corner post at the foot of her bed and kicked off her shoes. “I know you’re back there, stop ignoring me.”

  From out of the closet, Blackheart’s personal servant rushed across the room. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. Here I come.”

  “Untie the back of my dress,” Blackheart said as she patted at the sweat on her neck and forehead.

  The servant worked at the strings and pulled at the garment.

  Blackheart yanked it from the servant’s hands and inspected it. The dress was torn at the collar where the queen had grabbed her. She threw the dress back at the servant. “See what you can do to salvage this.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Blackheart walked into her closet to find another dress. She pulled out one dress after another. “This won’t do. Not this, you’ve worn this already.” The dresses piled up behind her. “No, no, no!”

  The mumbling escalated into violent shouting. “I am so tired of her ridiculous garbage!”

  She grabbed a large pile of dresses and threw them outside her closet. With tears running down her face, she ordered the servant to stand still. She grabbed one of her belts and began swinging. “That stupid… good for nothing… why… do… I… even… try!” Blackheart struck the servant with the belt after each word.

  The nightmare lasted only a few moments before the servant fell to the floor, wailing in agony. Glowing red streaks of swelling flesh brightened on her arms and face.

  Hovering over her, Blackheart said, “Now you know how it feels to be me.” She dropped the belt and left the servant lying on the floor as she walked back into her closet to get dressed.

  * * *

  The queen stood and stared at the body. Thoughts of her baby came flooding in. She had been fighting herself, insisting that her decision to let go of the newborn was the right choice. But no matter how much thought she put into it, it ate at her conscience and made her feel even more alone and isolated than she already felt. Anger and sadness churned inside of her.

  “There’s nothing I can do now,” the queen told herself, “she’s gone.”

  She moved on with the morning and filled her bath with water. She undressed and sighed as she ran her hands over her withered body. Her fingertips slid across dry, cracked patches of skin. Her breasts sagged and appeared deflated. There has to be something I can do to fix this, she thought. She poured different kinds of bath oils and salts into the cold water and dropped in a handful of eucalyptus stems. Maybe this will help heal my cracking skin.

  The queen lowered herself gently into the bath and tried to relax. The water was cold and the oil rose to the surface. The salts sank to the bottom and grinded against her skin. Even the eucalyptus clumped together, as if refusing to release its therapeutic essences. This was like sitting in a cold cup of tea—a poor-man’s bath.

  She refused to let a simple thing like a bath get the best of her. She closed her eyes and eventually drifted away into a dream. The queen saw herself in her bath, cradling her baby in the crook of her arms. The room was bright and filled with people. Everyone was laughing and joking with one another and appeared to be having a good time. Elzana was seated on a chair near the tub. She was also smiling.

  No one made a big fuss over the baby’s appearance and legitimacy. She looked at them and the baby and felt a little more at ease after they started commenting on how beautiful the girl was. The queen agreed and gently kissed the baby’s forehead.

  Everyone in the room started circling around the bath.

  “Let me hold her,” one woman said.

  “Oh not yet,” the queen replied. She caressed the child’s bright red hair. “I can’t get enough of her.”

  “Come on,” another said. “Just for a second.” Hands from all around the tub reached in for her baby.

  “No, stop, she’s mine!”

  “Come on, dearie,” Elzana said. “It’s only for a little while.”

  “No,” the queen repeated. “She’s mine!”

  In one quick swoop, Elzana lunged in and pulled the baby out of the queen’s arms. “No she’s not, she’s dead!”

  The queen jerked herself back into waking reality. She sat up, alone and in the dark. Alone and cradling no baby.

  * * *

  Blackheart stepped out of her closet, dressed but not yet ready. She pinned her wavy hair back and slipped on a pair of plum purple gloves. She picked up a feathered hat, walked past the servant, and smiled.

  The servant looked down and fixed her gaze on the floor in a desperate attempt to b
lend in with the wall, but the red streaks running across her face and arms refused to hide.

  “Cheer up, dearie. You’ll feel better once you clean up,” Blackheart said in an upbeat tone. “You’re a mess.”

  “Yes ma’am, Your Grace.” The servant’s voice trembled.

  “Good, it’s settled then,” Blackheart said before leaving the room. “Take the rest of the day off.”

  As Blackheart made her way back to the West Wing, passersby stepped aside and bowed. “Good morning, Your Grace,” they sang.

  Blackheart swelled and held her head high. She weaved through the service corridor traffic and returned to the West Wing. It was a mess. Piles of clothing, books, blankets, and other keepsakes were scattered throughout the hallways. Servants were looting what they could from the abandoned rooms, keeping what they wanted or needed and discarding others’ personal items. Pictures, small diary books, and other scrap littered the hallway.

  Zane swaggered toward Blackheart. “The sweep is almost done,” he announced. “Thirteen servants have been taken to the tower so far.”

  “Good,” she replied. “Let’s find the fourteenth.”

  As Blackheart was finishing the last inspection, the silhouette of a cat running down the hall caught her attention. “What was that? Did you see that?”

  “What was what, Your Grace?” Zane replied.

  “That animal. I just saw a cat run down the hallway.”

  “I didn’t see anything.” Zane looked to either side and shrugged his broad shoulders.

  “What do you mean you didn’t see anything?” Blackheart then looked at the servant she was inspecting. “Was that your cat? You know better than to keep an animal.”

  “No, of course not, Your Grace,” the servant replied. “I wouldn’t dare.”

  Blackheart hesitated before pushing past the two to follow the cat. “We’ll see about that. Zane, hold her here until I get back.”

  Blackheart turned the corner. Old ruined statues lined both sides of the hallway. There were no doors. It appeared to be a dead-end. I’ve never been in this part of the West Wing before, she thought, confused.

  She saw the cat sitting at the far end of the dark hall. “There you are,” Blackheart said as she stomped toward it. When she bent down to grab the cat, it looked up at her and smiled.

  “You’re wearing my favorite color,” the cat said.

  Blackheart jerked back into an upright position. “What .. . . what the hell?” Taking a step back, she huffed. “How did you get in here you leper? Guards!” She turned around and walked back in the direction from where she came, but stopped when a purple haze filled the corridor.

  The haze thickened into a fat furry body. Then, a tail and two pointy ears appeared, followed by two big bright yellow eyes. Finally, a grin popped out of nowhere to complete the face. “Leaving so soon?” the cat asked.

  “Yes, I have nothing to say to you.”

  “But you just got here. And besides, you’re going the wrong way. Your friends are that way, aren’t they?” The cat pointed in the opposite direction.

  Blackheart looked over her shoulder. The empty hallway stared back at her. The cat was gone and she now stood at the end of the hallway facing the wall.

  “What? What just happened?” she asked. “How did you . . . ”

  The cat rematerialized and floated around Blackheart’s side. “What’s wrong? Did you lose your way?”

  “I don’t have time for this, you dirty imp.” She turned and walked away.

  “Ah, but you see, time is all you need,” the cat said, trailing behind her.

  “Need? For what?” Blackheart asked.

  “Don’t let your pretention and pride blind you. I’m talking about your desire to become queen—succession. That’s the reason why you had the queen’s daughter killed, isn’t it?”

  She stopped and glanced around cautiously. “What? What do you know about that?”

  The cat floated past Blackheart and looked her straight in the eyes. “All I know is that the queen is cursed. It is just a matter of time before time catches up to her,” the cat continued.

  “Cursed? So it’s true?” she whispered.

  “Yes, cursed. The widow is cursed. And it comes at a good time for you too. You see, there needs to be a successor.”

  Blackheart puffed up her chest and grinned.

  The cat flipped backwards and laughed. “I suppose it is possible. But, is it probable? After all, Josephine probably thought she would become queen when the king never returned, but that didn’t do her much good, did it?”

  A scowl flashed across Blackheart’s face. “Don’t you dare compare me to her.”

  “Well, what do you know about being queen?” the cat asked.

  “Ha! I rebuilt this kingdom from the ground up. This is my kingdom. I know everything about it and have earned the right to rule it.”

  “Yes, yes, you have done a lot. It’s just a shame that no one really appreciates what you have done. Do you think the queen appreciates you? Do you think it was right for your cousin to treat you the way she did earlier today?” the cat asked.

  Blackheart clenched her teeth together. “What are you talking about?”

  “I was there. I saw how she picked you up like a rag doll and threatened you. It was actually very amusing to see.”

  She swung at the cat’s face, but her hand passed through it as if it were made of air. “You little monster.”

  The cat hovered in front of Blackheart, swinging from side to side as if perched on a pendulum. “No, no, no. Don’t you see? You don’t have what it takes. You’re weak.”

  Blackheart smiled. “I’ll show you, leper. When I’m queen I will finish what I started. I will do what the queen couldn’t. Justice will be deliciously served.”

  The cat sniffed at the air. “You’re making me hungry.”

  “Prepare yourself. I will burn the Caterpillar’s Forest down to the ground if I have to. No leper will be spared and you .. . . oh yes, you .. . . will be the first to go.”

  The cat floated down to the ground and disappeared, but the animal’s voice trailed on. “Just remember, dear. Time is against you.”

  Alone, she returned back to Zane and her work. As she did, she vowed, “I’ll show that dirty leper. I will be queen.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Blackheart smiled. The day’s events were coming together nicely.

  Josephine was taken up to her old room where she was groomed for the public executions. In the tower, the thirteen servants to be executed were prepped. Guards stripped them of their tattered, old frocks and threw buckets of cold water over their frail bodies. Warm water was poured into a porcelain tub for Josephine. The servants were given raw linen to wear, while a black sequined lace dress was laid out for the princess. Guards shaved the servants’ heads, while Josephine’s hair was brushed, braided, and crowned with her old jewels.

  “Why can’t I just kill you?” Blackheart asked

  She was nothing like Josephine. She paled in comparison to her grace and beauty.

  “Why don’t you?” Josephine replied.

  If the people loved one thing more than their king, it was Josephine. She was adored by all. She was everything Blackheart wanted to be. She was royalty. But Blackheart saw to it that Josephine rarely saw the light of day. She kept her public appearances short and infrequent, using her like a puppet to prevent the public from becoming suspicious.

  The tips of Blackheart’s gray, cracked lips curled. “Don’t tempt me. Besides, I have you right where I want you.”

  “That’s a lie,” Josephine said. “You hate having to need me. I can see it in your eyes.”

  Blackheart rubbed the fabric of Josephine’s dress between her fingers. “How does it feel to be in your old room, dear? Like old times?”

  “Were the guards really necessary?” Josephine asked, pointing at the two guards posted inside her room.

  Blackheart laughed. “I didn’t want you getting too comfortable up h
ere. Besides, I thought they would be a nice reminder of your status.”

  Once the two were ready, the guards escorted the opulently dressed women downstairs to the main foyer and out the palace doors.

  When they climbed into the carriage, the queen groaned. “It’s about time. Now that you’re done fixing each other’s hair, can we go?”

  Blackheart gave a swift, solid pound on the carriage wall. It rolled forward. The carriage went through the palace gates and stopped at a large stage where crowds of people had gathered.

  The stage was constructed during the Inquisition, just outside the palace gates, for public executions. It normally sat plain and undisturbed. Today, however, before dawn, Blackheart had the stage decorated. Lavish floral arrangements and banners were raised high into the air to draw attention from the city. Thirteen barrels were scattered on the front half of the stage. The back half consisted of a raised floor where the queen’s throne had been placed along with a smaller, decorative chair for Josephine.

  The crowd roared when the queen and Josephine walked onto the stage. The queen waved, smiled, and blew kisses into the crowd. She knew how to work the people. For that, they loved her public persona. Josephine stayed quiet and looked away from the crowd. She didn’t want anything but to return to the palace.

  As soon as the two took their seats, Blackheart walked out and stood in front of the throne. She signaled for the guards to bring out the servants, most of them now too old to work or be of any use in the palace.

  “Your Majesties!” Blackheart shouted into the crowd. “You have before you thirteen sympathizers accused of treason. Their actions undermined Your Majesty’s authority to govern and protect the people from lepers. By your authority, and your authority alone, you’ve kindly given them an opportunity to honorably pay for their transgressions. Do you wish to continue? For it is far better to pay for your sins with your life than to live your life as a sinner.”

  The queen nodded.

  “You are most kind, My Queen,” Blackheart said.

  The crowd roared and chanted, “Long live the queen.”