Cradle (Spoilers Inside)

She borders on the edge of reality, betwixt the waking and the eternal black. No window or door could deny her entrance, and nobody knows her possessive embrace, save I. By my name, I'm James Tigran II, but the breath upon my ear whispered 'betrothed'.

On one April night, when the rain dealt fury to the world outside, I lied down on my bed, knowing that the sordid outcome would be unavoidable. I eventually found the bedding suffocating and threw them from my body, yearning for the comfort of my study and the childhood stories therein. A remedy, perhaps, for my frayed thoughts.

As I traversed, lantern guiding my path, the castle walls—even during the day—were eerie and quiet, seeming to collapse in on themselves with every passing year. The maids, bless their souls, could only provide so much upkeep to the failing structure. But their likes were dwindling every passing month. I couldn't find it in my heart to throw blame. For with every beck and call they would offer me comfort from my own nerves, be they kind words or a shoulder to weep on. They were the only ones remaining, and they knew I was slipping; and I was only twenty-four of age. Hence, the peasants' smiles were masquerades of fear. Whispers of a family curse that originated from my father were commonplace and the true origin of their unwavering fealty. The concept of the unknown is, indeed, powerful for a lesser sort, and the thought of a contagious curse is paralyzing. Better it stay perched atop the hill and be given no reason to infect their kind, they surely thought.

I eventually came upon a large window that offered a view into the castle's shadow, where my vassals claimed home. The sky flashed temporarily, lighting the village's housing, then hide in unnerving darkness. I happened to catch the roof of one hovel with a knitted brow. Regrettably, the concoction of plants afforded by the apothecary didn't calm, but rather stole my conscious, forcing a near-death slumber. It gave my body respite from the waking world. Yet my dreams—as I quickly realized—offered no safe haven from the temptress. She was somehow able to defy mortal limitations and invade my life in its entirety, true of women and the hidden beasts that dwell within.

Opening the door to my study, I wearily took a seat on my reading chair and sat the lantern upon the mahogany desk. The glow upon the musty room ushered back memories of my mother, the Queen, and I weakly smiled through the encroaching fear. Her warm hands led me to that same room to narrate tales as I drifted off. Even as a young prince I recognized her saintly patience. Then, my smile faded.

In truth, my youthful hours of scampering was free from the temptress of sin, although a recurring dream offered glimpses of her younger form. At the time we both shared the same naive age, and I loved the long black hair that framed her pure smile, even in dream-scape. Now that pure smile belonged to an otherworldly denizen that broke free from my mind and made herself manifest. I didn't care for her anymore, least that's what I told myself.

Flipping through a collection of fables I wondered at what hour she would strike. I knew the sighs all too well, even if the maids wouldn't believe. Air would swirl and dance, then turn dark as the briny depths before yielding her form, yet never past midnight. incidentally, I eyed the contraption of gears—the timepiece—that teased some small hope. My frail hands clenched tight, trying to turn the page, lightly shaking.

"Twenty minutes 'till the new day. Will she spare this flesh and mind this night?"

The thought of an unburdened sleep, even for one night, was intoxicating. I brushed back golden hair and sweat stuck to my palm. "Is this the madness that drove father to kill mother?" I whispered to the dark. "If I had taken a bride... would I do the same?"

Suddenly, the pages turned on their own accord. Faster and faster they flipped, egged on by a strong current of wind that mimicked the ferocity outside. I braced against the desk, imagining the failing walls crushing my soul into the earth. Yet, no such relief came. Instead, an ungodly noise that reminded me of heavy boots tracking mud forced my attention. There, hovering above the center of the study, sat a familiar mist of writhing ebony. I made the mistake of beholding the cruel depths for too long, realizing it too late. Screeching pai

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