Right now, I was dreaming one of those dreadful visions again, one that looked less like a warning and more like a front-row seat to hell itself.
And in the dream, I was watching the Queen's execution.
The square was packed with people.
Citizens filled every corner, every balcony, as well as every possible space where someone could stand and watch. Their voices blended into a roaring mass of anger and hatred that hung over the entire place like a storm cloud.
At the center of it all stood the platform.
The Queen stood there.
She didn't struggle. She didn't scream. She didn't beg.
She just stood there quietly, her hands bound, her posture straight, looking out at the crowd.
Her expression was calm in a way that felt… unsettling.
And then she spoke.
"I have killed—"
Her voice carried across the square, steady and clear despite everything.
For some reason, the next words blurred.
