Military Prison, Eastern Block—A Midnight Verdict
Heavy, steel-plated boots pounded against the cold stone corridors, their echoes filling the silence within the prison. Two armed soldiers halted before Cell 27—the only one occupied. The others remained vacant, damp, and so filthy that rats scurried freely, unbothered by any human presence. But as the guards approached, the stillness was interrupted.
One soldier unlocked the iron door, its rusty hinges groaning in protest. Inside, Greta Albrecht Von Meier sat in the corner, poised yet eerily quiet. Her sharp eyes flickered as the shadows spilled in. Though disheveled, she still bore the silent dignity of fallen nobility.
A sergeant stepped forward, retrieving a parchment from beneath the folds of his black leather coat. His voice was firm, official, utterly devoid of sympathy.
"Under Article 9, Clause Seven of the Auristellan Empire, you, Lady Greta Albrecht Von Meier, have been sentenced to death. Execution will take place in two hours—at precisely 03:00 Imperial Time. You are granted the right to pen a final letter and select one personal item to accompany you to the execution grounds. May this justice close the chapter you've chosen to write."
He sealed the decree with a short ritual, though the regret behind his words was faint.
Without waiting for a response, the soldier rolled up the parchment and stepped back. The door slammed shut once more, the sound of steel colliding with steel ringing through the prison. A tray containing a quill, a sheet of paper, and an envelope was slid through the bars.
Inside, Greta didn't speak. Her gaze lingered on the tray, unblinking. Time seemed to halt.
She hugged her knees tighter, unmoving, a fragile silhouette against the dim stone. What was the point? Even if she spoke the truth, her words would carry no weight.
Her family had discarded her, traded her future away to secure power, wealth, and the survival of Meier's waning influence. And now, as death loomed near, not a single soul would come for her. Not her father, who had already cast her aside. Not her kin, who would rather erase her name than risk their legacy.
Footsteps echoed once more, but these weren't the heavy tread of military boots.
The rhythmic click of high heels rang through the corridor, deliberate, measured, like royalty ensuring every step reflected their station. A second set of steps followed, precisely paced to match the first.
Greta listened. Then, firelights flickered against the stone walls, revealing familiar silhouettes. Her stomach twisted. She recognized them. It was the Queen—Inggrid Anneliese.
Clad in a sweeping black cloak that concealed her entire form, Inggrid came to a stop before Greta's cell. With one swift motion, she pulled back the hood, revealing piercing emerald eyes.
They held nothing but contempt.
"Have you enjoyed the fruits of your defiance, Lady Von Meier?" The queen's voice dripped with mockery, her gaze unwavering. "You should've kept your ambitions quiet. You might've lived longer, at least until my son ascends the throne."
Greta's expression hardened. "He'll never sit on that throne. The records you buried will surface. Sooner or later, His Majesty will see the truth—Friedrich is not his rightful heir!"
"Silence!" Inggrid snarled, striking the iron bars with her palm.
With a subtle glance, she signaled her guards. One stepped forward, undoing the lock with practiced ease. As Inggrid strode in, her gaze flickered to the tray, now scattered across the floor, kicked in her path. The quill rolled to Greta's bare feet.
"What's this? They're having you write a final testament?" Inggrid scoffed, then stomped down on the envelope and paper, grinding them beneath her heel until they crumpled into a filthy mess. "Pathetic. What's the point of this? It's worthless."
Greta should have been angry. The queen was trampling on what little dignity remained, but for what? Even if she wrote a letter, who would ever read it?
It would never reach her father's desk. No doubt the prison guards would burn it the moment she was gone. A condemned traitor's words, nothing more than ash. Satisfied with her destruction, Inggrid moved closer. Greta instinctively reached down, gripping the quill that had rolled against her foot. As their eyes met, the queen suddenly lunged, her fingers twisting into Greta's tangled hair, yanking her head upward.
Pain exploded across Greta's face before she could react, a brutal slap sending her reeling, the taste of blood pooling at her lips.
"What kind of look is that?" Inggrid hissed. "You should be savoring your final moments. Isn't this what you wanted? To take my place, to ruin my life with that cursed charm?"
With a flick of her wrist, Inggrid extended her palm. A blade was placed in her grasp. She raised it, pointed it directly at Greta's face.
Greta trembled, terror locking her throat, her lips quivering without a single word of plea escaping.
"What's wrong? Are you afraid?" Inggrid's voice dripped with mockery, but she didn't wait for an answer.
Steel flashed in the dim torchlight. The queen slashed the blade across Greta's face, a cruel, deliberate stroke. Blood pooled at her jaw, sliding down her throat, staining the tattered fabric at her chest.
"I could kill you here, but that wouldn't satisfy me. No! Watching you swing in the heart of Auristella will be the finest decision I ever demanded of the emperor."
"You—"
The single word barely escaped Greta's lips before a vicious slap sent her sprawling, her body hitting the filth-streaked floor. Dust clung to her skin, mixing with the grime of the prison cell.
Tears poured freely, unchecked. The quill she had clung to, the one fragile piece left to her, suddenly became a weapon. Shaking, breath ragged, Greta lunged forward, aiming it straight for the queen.
The moment was brief, fleeting. Inggrid screamed. Her guards reacted in a flash, slamming Greta to the ground, twisting her wrist until the sickening crack of breaking bone shattered the air. Her agonized scream filled the corridors as a soldier shoved Inggrid back to safety.
"Not just her wrist, break her neck too! She tried to kill me!" The queen's voice was shrill with fury, her finger stabbing toward Greta's writhing form.
More guards rushed in, drawn by the commotion.
"Execute her! Now! She dared to attack me!" Inggrid's demand was absolute.
The soldiers obeyed. Chains clamped around Greta's ankles. They dragged her out, yanking her forward like livestock bound for slaughter.
She barely registered the cold iron biting into her bruised skin, barely felt the stone scraping against her feet. But as she passed Inggrid, her tear-stained, bloodied gaze locked onto the queen.
It wasn't fear. It wasn't pain. It was hatred, pure, searing, unwavering loathing.
The first and only defiance Greta had ever shown in seven long years. Outside, the capital square overflowed with spectators, their cheers deafening as the prisoner was hauled toward the raised platform, the stage of her final act. Greta glimpsed the emperor, seated high above, flanked by Inggrid and their son, Friedrich. They had come to witness her end.
The executioners moved quickly. The rope tightened around her throat. Her broken wrist burned under the pressure of fresh restraints, but she didn't flinch.
Silence clung to her, suffocating. Her lips, pale and trembling, refused to yield another cry. The emperor stared back, expression unreadable, as a cold southern wind stirred the air. A familiar breeze. The breath of Eisthal.
For the briefest moment, Greta let herself revel in it, the icy kiss of home, the whisper of a land she'd never thought she'd sense again. Then, among the sea of jeering faces, her eyes found something unexpected. A carriage, adorned with the sigil of Eisthal's white wolf, stood proud beneath the weight of six towering steeds. Inside, a man. Watching her. Smiling. Before she could blink, the burlap sack came down over her head. And the world went dark. The crowd erupted as the rope tightened. The condemned noble, the traitor, was no more. Yet, as the final breath left her lips, a thought lingered.
'If I wrote you a different fate, would you dance with me in the fire of another life?'