-Broadcast-
King Riku uttered Rebecca's name, and it was like pulling the pin from a grenade. The composure Violet had worn like armor disintegrated, and she fractured before his very eyes. The violence of her grief was a physical force in the room, and a dread colder than any winter settled in the old king's bones. The thought was an icy whisper in his soul: Did I fail to save even my Scarlett's last legacy?
His hand, palsied and weak, fumbled for the wine bottle. He didn't drink to numb the pain; he drank to prove he could still feel anything at all. Every piece of news today had been another hammer blow against the pillars of his sanity, and now, they were beginning to crumble. Without Dressrosa, what was a king? Without family, what was a man?
Violet's confession was not spoken; it was excavated. Each word was a shard of glass she dragged from her throat. "Rebecca… and the toy soldier…Kyros" she began, her voice a dead thing. "They fought until there was nothing left to fight with. They were the final heroes of this land." She looked at her own hands as if they were covered in filth. "I am just the coward who lived. I have no right to the title of princess."
The memories were not just recalled; they were relived. The uprising, three years ago. Doflamingo's casual, monstrous laughter as he gave the order. The screams of the rebels being cut down, their bodies tossed from the cliffs like refuse.
"I searched the waters for three days," she said, her gaze lost in the blood-tinged surf of her memory. "The sea was a graveyard. The smell… I found what was left of Rebecca tangled in the seaweed. The gulls had already been at her." Her voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. "And his head. The toy soldier's… The paint was peeling from his cheeks." It was only then, holding the mangled remains of the people she loved, that the fog lifted and she remembered Kyros. The universe had offered her one final, exquisitely cruel jest: she would be the one to bury her own family.
"I couldn't save a single soul," she sobbed, the sound raw and ragged. "All I could do was gather the pieces. He is a devil, father. A walking plague." The agony she had sealed away for a thousand days erupted, a septic tide of grief and self-loathing. The living do not escape the pain; they are merely left to carry it.
King Riku moved as if underwater, his limbs heavy with a sorrow too vast to comprehend. He pulled his daughter into an embrace, a hollow gesture of comfort. "It is over, Violet. Dressrosa has fallen. We will go. Find somewhere quiet. We will leave the ghosts behind." It was a lie, and they both knew it.
Violet, desperate for any comfort, clung to him. The warmth of his arms was a temporary anchor in her storm-tossed soul. "Doffy… he's gone. His subordinates are scattered. We just need to find a ship," she mumbled into his shoulder, her guard finally, fatally, collapsing. "We can disappear."
Doffy.
The single, affectionate syllable struck King Riku with the force of a physical blow. It was a key turning in a locked door in his mind, opening into a room of pure, unadulterated horror. In that instant, every incongruous detail of the past three years coalesced into a grotesque tapestry of betrayal.
Why was I, the king who led the final charge, left to rot in a cell instead of being executed?
Why was my daughter allowed to live in peace, untouched by the tyrant's grasp?
When did Doflamingo, the Heavenly Yaksha, learn the meaning of mercy?
The answer was in the innocent faces of the children just a few feet away. Elsa and Anna. His grandchildren. His grandchildren. The blood of the man who had murdered his wife, his daughter, his people… flowed in their veins. It was a taint. A corruption. A blasphemy written in flesh and blood. His hope for a future didn't just die; it revealed itself to have been a sick, cosmic joke all along. His soul did not fall from heaven; it was dragged down into the abyss and chained to the floor.
The tender moment was over. When Violet moved to refill the wine, her filial duty was a parody of the life they'd lost. As she left, Riku's gaze fell upon the two girls. His face was a stone mask. He beckoned them forward. Anna, ever the bright and fearless one, climbed onto his lap without hesitation.
"Grandpa, don't be upset with my sister," she chirped, her voice a melody of pure innocence. "She's just shy. But she's happy you're here with us. I am, too."
Her smile, so genuine and full of love, was the final turn of the screw. Riku's trembling hand rose, not to strike, but to gently caress her cheek. A single, scalding tear traced a path down his own. This was not a child. This was a monument to his failure, a living symbol of Doflamingo's ultimate victory. From the folds of his cloak, he produced a pistol.
Elsa saw the dark gleam of metal and her world stopped. Sound ceased. Air refused to enter her lungs. She was a statue, forced to witness the unthinkable.
Riku leaned in close, his voice a soft, paternal whisper against Anna's ear. "Do you know what heroes do, little one? They make sacrifices." The cold steel of the muzzle pressed under her chin. The girl's eyes widened, not in fear, but in confusion, a silent question on her lips.
He answered it with a gunshot.
The sound was brutally final. A red blossom bloomed on Anna's throat, and the light in her eyes went out. Her small body went limp, a broken doll in her grandfather's arms.
Violet returned to that single, deafening sound. She saw it all in one, soul-destroying image: her father, his face spattered with her daughter's blood, holding the still-smoking gun. The tray of wine glasses shattered on the stone floor. The scream that ripped from her was not of this world. It was the sound of a soul being torn in two. "NO! ANNA!"
Her legs buckled. She scrambled forward on her hands and knees, a primal, maternal instinct driving her toward her child's body. But before she could reach her, a shadow fell over her. Her father's hands, cold and impossibly strong, clamped around her neck.
He began to squeeze. His face was no longer that of a grieving king; it was the face of a zealot, a holy executioner. "I'm sorry, Violet," he rasped, the words a rhythmic, insane chant. "For Dressrosa. The bloodline must be cleansed. I am sorry."
Violet clawed at his arms, her nails sinking into his flesh, but it was like tearing at granite. Her vision tunneled. Her lungs screamed for air. With the last of her strength, she locked eyes with her remaining daughter.
"Elsa…" she choked, her voice a dying ember. "Live… Elsa… live for us…"
The plea shattered Elsa's paralysis. Her mother was dying. Her sister was dead. The man who was her grandfather was a monster. A sob tore from her chest as she took one last, searing look at the carnage. Then, she ran. She ran from the home that was now a tomb, the images of her mother's strangled face and her sister's lifeless eyes burned into her mind forever.
"The taint must be purged," King Riku wept, tears of madness streaming down his face as he tightened his grip. "For Scarlett… for Rebecca… for Kyros… I'm sorry."
Violet's final, gurgling breath was not a plea. It was a promise. "Riku… Dold… I curse you… with my dying soul… I will find you… in hell…"
A sharp, wet snap echoed in the sudden silence.
Her body went slack. The last princess of Dressrosa hung limp in her father's hands, her vacant eyes a testament to the absolute ruin of a kingdom and a family.
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