Mystique Blackwell's Downfall

The scenery changed. Now, she was in a hallway—most definitely somewhere in her mansion— the usual one she took a strut earlier as though it had the same structure and motif throughout the castle.

Although she turned around when her ears perked up from the familiar thuds.

Supposedly, Arnold should be in his usual rhythm, pacing back and forth. This time and in front of his study room, his steps hastened with loud beats that echoed the hallway.

"What rubbish, son of a whore—! Why hasn't he come back—?! If that fool dares to mark my precious daughter—!"

Arnold threw a fit, the floor froze with a thick sheen of ice, popping out spikes of ice around him. He couldn't stop with the gnash of his teeth thinking about absurd possibilities from his murmurs and enigmatic look.

"That cunning bastard, fucking—like a mongrel beast in heat! Why is it taking so damn long?!" he spat them unfiltered.

But like those curse words worked like magic, he heard fast thuds grew louder in his ear and got taken aback when Keith barged out of the door, clearly out of breath. Sweat drenched him like he took a bath, except from the bodily stench that latched unto him.

He got his trousers secured, at least. However, from the sleeves buttoned disarray, showing gaps on his torso and glistening pecs that filled with love bites and suckles that adorned him.

Nathalie couldn't help but notice the sudden sear across her cheeks, but it was different to someone else.

"What? Speak at once!"

"Sire! There's something wrong!" Despite droopy eyes, he squinched as he delivered further bad news. "...Her Grace is still in deep pain—"

"Imbecile! Out of my way!" Arnold brandished his arm, slamming him to the side in thicket ice. He rushed towards the private room that secretly accommodated Mystic, and he was cursing under his breath. "Stupid mutt, what have you been grinding your loins all these time? Damn son of a bitch!"

Nathalie gasped from how Keith slumped to the ground after she found the large cracks and dents. However, he anchored and tried his best to stand. He groaned, gritting teeth, as he limped back to the room.

So much she wanted to help Keith's poor state, she knew this was just a retrospection, which she had to follow Arnold.

There was no time to dilly-dally as she caught up with them as well.

But the more Nathalie astride towards the room, layers of dread piled up on her shoulder, not wanting to witness the scene that awaited her.

"No, no, no, no! No!" Arnold bellowed; the curtains fluttered away when the frigid winds burst out of the bed, revealing his menacing countenance as he checked Mystique's vital signs. "This isn't the curse alone!"

"Mystique! Mystique! You can't leave me too!" Arnold choked while he embraced her with his neck arched up, tears bawling, and howled in a booming thunder. "No! Come back to me! Come bac

The agony reverberated every nook and cranny of the castle. It was the first time they heard a rich and raw outburst of emotion from one who has a stoic facade.

Arnold, yet again, grieved upon the loss of his flesh and blood.

Mystique's last moments were found near the ending of the first book; recreating the scene had nostalgia prick all over her.

Even Nathalie, as an onlooker of the spectacle, shed tears of the tragedy.

She killed one of her darlings, in some author references.

Readers might have celebrated this tragedy and even had more deathwish as it seemed that things weren't over. They wanted overkill. Yet some didn't bother, and she belonged to the latter.

It went on for a while when Nathalie noticed behind the chaotic fringes of his periwinkle hair.

'Gaze that would sell oneself to the devil if there were even.'

She covered her mouth when she was familiar with that kind of look. A look she described explicitly in the early entries of the sequel.

'The day he makes a profound gaze of death, staring in the depths of the abyss, would be the time he ought to deliver the retribution he ever desired, even if it means bringing the empire into ruination.'

Nathalie got rooted from her place, she didn't know how to process or even ingest ever single information that fed to her.

Her description was just brief, as mentioned in the epilogue of the first book, The Prince's Retribution, and possibly the prologue of the sequel, The Prince's Ascension.

But after all these scenes that were presented to her, she knew one thing.

Just as the snippets of vivid dreams she had, which she ought to write them to tell a crafty story, while trying to connect them one after another was no different from how the fragmented memories she had already manifested its own pattern and storyline.

Long before Nathalie noticed, the floor began to shatter into pieces, falling to the abyss as it crawled up to the ceiling. She screamed bloody murder while seeking help.

Her mind ebbed back to the present, with an obscuring vision, she ought to shut her eyes from the sudden onset of vertigo. Her hands reached to her head, gripping so tight, as she thought it would ease the pain.

But obviously, it didn't work. She was helpless, with her tears trickled down like dew drops on the solemn dawn.

For her, it was like her sensations of pain attacked every inch of her skin, akin to almost eating her alive. When her face contorted to the point it was unbearable—with her pale lips and skin drenched from sweat—Arnold got alarmed, and stopped his powers immediately.

"Mysti? Stop! Let it go! Enough of this, let go!" Arnold roared; he shook her frail shoulders to snap out of her trance. "This—I'm such a fool! I should've not listened to her words..." he muttered breathlessly.

Though his face softened when Nathalie raised her hand, quivering, trying to scribble something in midair.

[Father, I—]

Arnold then cut her off with a ramble, "Don't worry! I'm here! Go straight to the point so don't waste an ounce of energy!"

[I—Need rest. Tired.]

When Nathalie's breathing slowly got back on track, the doting father sighed as he escaped another setback.

"Hush now," he cooed, pulling out his handkerchief and wiped on her damp forehead to her neck. "Father shall take care of you and your nightmares, so rest if you must."

Nathalie smiled curtly, humming sweetly.

Not long after, she found herself slipping into slumber.