Headed by a Snake

⟬ Aboard the Sugar-Titted Siren II. ⟭

Imperia blinked her eyes... trying to focus.

She watched her hand struggle and shake, lifting a mere handkerchief... touching upon the still weeping lash marks on her naked chest.

It hurt.

So... so much.

She knew it was unhealthy to peel at the scabs.

...They itched so terribly.

Her whole body was hot with fever.

She wanted to sleep... maybe forever.

Yet... sleep eluded her.

Water.

Did they at least leave her a pitcher?

She was so thirsty... locked in her room, only her thoughts to keep her company.

All living creatures of the Realm... they needed water to live.

...Maybe that's why she didn't deserve it.

The events of only a few bells earlier in the sun... she kept seeing them.

A wakeful nightmare.

...The most horrid of visions.

...of how she shot and killed the Heart of the Ocean.

'How is Captain Krysaos' ship faster than ours?'

It was her sovereign who said that. The King from Across the Seas.

Or maybe... it was one of her servants?

Male voices mixed together in Imperia's mind.

Someone said it. Or maybe she just... imagined it.

'Aren't you supposed to be the most powerful Sea Witch amongst the Elven tribes?'

Mother said that.

Imperia furrowed her brows, trying to will away the scalding mist clouding her mind.

Why would she hear Mother's voice so far away from Whitehearth?

She didn't even like Mother...

Memories.

She couldn't trust them... not since she took fever.

Not since... last she spoke to Krysaos.

But when was that? Before they left the port? After? --no... It had to have been before.

The memories mixed together with the nightmares... with the promises Imperia made to Mother... with the kiss she shared with her servant.

Her first kiss.

She remembered it... vaguely.

She had given it... to the wrong man.

It was her physical wants and needs... her lips that were unfaithful.

No.

It was her decision to betray Krysaos' trust...

Her stomach roiled in time with the ship lurching forward. She slammed her elbows to the deck and rolled to the side.

She struck something with her body... the full mirror that her mother gifted.

It fell, fragmenting into a myriad of sadistic shards.

It was her punishment for falling in love with a human.

It was... her punishment for losing the purity of her lips to another, still.

Bile rose to her throat and she tried to vomit...

It earned her nothing but burning tears and a series of painful, body-wracking convulsions.

The shards stuck in her back cut only deeper... what little life essence she had pooling wet against the wooden floorboards.

Imperia wanted to die.

She wanted to die for failing the expectations of literally everyone important in her life.

She wanted to die... for pulling the trigger.

Imperia placed her hands on her face... and she cried.

Why didn't anyone stop her?

It should have been obvious... that she wasn't thinking straight.

Her mind wasn't her own.

Why didn't anyone... save her?

She was... a Princess in distress... like in the old stories.

And Krysaos... he was supposed to be her dashing hero.

Why... did the fates see fit to guide her crossbow quarrel... across hundreds of yalms to strike Mina true?

That woman... that sweet and honest woman, Mina...

She... was loved.

--by Krysaos... by everyone in the crew... by even Imperia, herself.

It should have been... more surprising... that it hadn't happened sooner.

That... was probably why she did it... why Imperia aimed down the sights... why her focus was honed far clearer with jealousy than with rationale.

Imperia stared into the mirror fragments... their presence, a temptation.

In them, she continued to see her memories.

Far away... Mina toppled to the deck.

No... before that-- her sovereign, the father-figure she never had... the king whose crown Mother wanted so...

He... struck her.

...just as she'd experienced countless times before.

Before even that... a heartless Dark Elven Princess did as her mother wished.

Imperia pulled the trigger.

She didn't want to heed her mother's wishes.

She... didn't even want to be a Princess, anymore.

But despite her feelings... Mina's blood was on her hands.

It was inevitable.

Imperia knew naught but...

Betrayal...

Power-mongering.

...Selfishness.

A woman like her was... unforgivable... undeserving of love.

Krysaos hated her.

He... must have hated her.

And because of what she had done... he would hate her... always and forevermore.

Imperia reached out... grabbing hold of the largest shard.

It cut into her hand... but that pain would end soon.

All she had to do... was plunge the end into her neck...

She smiled wryly... amused that a gift from Mother could bring a peaceful end to her suffering.

...But even that was denied her.

"R... release me," Imperia whispered.

"No, Princess. I will do no such thing."

...

⟬ The Sugar-Titted Siren, minutes prior... ⟭

Anyone can be bought.

The price varied between adventurers...

Zhevra was... a pragmatic woman with mundane values-- but values easily attainable.

Love. Sex. Coin.

...Power.

With enough of one, the others were not so difficult.

Zhevra had communicated her... unwillingness to continue her mission.

The Wizard countered by offering an increase in reward.

She had enough love. With that, she also had a good f*ck out of Vyzen-- whenever she wanted, more or less.

The Wizard's coin, then... that was enough to bend her sense of morality.

She and her brother boarded the ship, pursuing the same mission.

Any and all metal-ranked adventurers belonging to Sol Invictus and their allies... with the exception of the King from Across the Seas-- their deaths were worth a Prince's ransom in silver.

It remained, of course... a distasteful venture.

Zhevra prowled the halls below deck of the precariously rocking ship... in search of the one man that could keep her mind off of such annoying troubles.

Vyzen was an angel unaccustomed to the light... perhaps somewhere in the bilgewater hull where no sensible being chose to tread.

Most likely, he was hunting rats... for sport... for a sadistic love of torture and dismemberment.

...Or perhaps he had grown bored and decided to cull one or three members of the Elven crew.