The spirit of winter favoured no one anymore. His sacredness was stained—tainted with blood that tasted bitter with envy and pride. None was spared when his wrath hovered in the air as his icy blizzard swirled all around, covering every inch with thick snow and destruction that walked in his wake.
The Kingdom of Erdestea, once filled with hues, now became a graveyard of white, where despair was the melody that became all too familiar. Even the dreadful blues and greys permitted such chilly plague to rid the last joy of the place, etching in the midst the travesty that had occurred when the poor pale princess—innocent and mild—was no more but a cold cadaver, lying under the grace of the forgotten church.
Heaven sympathised with the grief of the seven dwarves, crying in silence as it blew more breeze, letting no one be merry when evil had slowly gained the upper hand.
In the hollow and vast space of the throne room, her laugh resonated—piercing the silence of the halls that those who could dare hear such noise would think Lilith had risen from the depths of hell. Yet, there was no monster lingering; what was worse, it was no one, but Queen Gertrude alone made merry with the circumstance, rejoicing in the death of Maria Blanca.
"I am now the only fairest in the land!" She screamed, laughing and insulting the tragedy like a drunk jester putting on a show.
She raised her hands to the weeping sky, looked up and stared at the murals that portrayed glorious biblical scenes, in addition to the history of Erdestea. Amongst those great rulers, Queen Gertrude envisioned herself as one of them, as one of the greatest who brought peace into the land—The fairest lady who claimed serenity for the people.
Yet, the peace that walked on her wake was the breath of death itself. A forlorn phenomenon that dreaded every soul, enough to break the most gallant.
Queen Gertrude's joyful noise was screeching in the air that those who might heard it would like to have their ear torn off like what Saint Peter did to the Roman soldier, somehow, not a single warm body lurked inside the palace—no servants, no footmen, no guards, everyone was not in sight except inside their respective dwellings, cursed to turn into petrified statues until such time for them to be awake would return.
But none such souls were a priority, for the said fairest of them all rejoiced in her triumph. It was her moment, and none should dare to disrupt the joy.
Queen Gertrude laughed loudly, clapping and repeatedly raising her arms like a maniac until something bothered her…
Swoosh! There goes the wind that swept through like an angry hurricane. The large iron door of the throne room was thrown open wide as if a giant of great strength appeared. But it was no giant that surprised the queen, but a beast with large horns and eyes that narrowed, glaring in red at her with distinct disdain, and a quiet curse was breathed out from his mouth and nose.
With his heart pounding loudly in his chest, the beast—still draped under the shadow—slowly moved inside, stomping on his hooves as he never wandered away from the queen.
Looking back at him, Queen Gertrude was frozen in her place, the fear and sense of familiarity bubbling inside her like magma about to erupt from her body. Something about the beast, the great elk of the forest, prompted some memories that were already buried ten feet under.
"Wha—what kind of tomfoolery is this?" She asked, masking the shiver that ached in her throat. "No animal shall step inside the royal room! Out now, you beast!"
Loud and clear with her sentiment, the elk ignored her wail and pursued, threatening her as he stepped closer and closer until his ominous aura trembled the former conceited soul of Queen Gertrude. Almost a foot away, she reached out her shaky hand to him, telling him to stay away and calling out curses to send authority towards the animal.
However, her pretence was to no avail. Instead, it provoked the great elk, as he charged towards the queen, ready with clear madness emanating from his eyes.
Queen Gertrude immediately went on her heels and bolted towards safety, where she could not see clearly from the eruption of fear and adrenaline running inside her veins. Insults were flying in the air as she ran and ran, even leaving her emerald shoe decked with gold and peridot jewels on her trail as she stretched out the very last strength that clung to her body. Looking back, her nightmares were fruitful with the glares of the great elk darted towards her, with more flame and anger that turned the whites of his eyes into bloodshot red. Moments of blood-curdling screams echoed every second, warning the beast with more hexes if he dared to touch even the slightest strands of her hair. Somehow, the elk paid no heed and went on chasing her—deliberately taunting her until blood dragged along with Queen Gertrude, staining the floor until they reached towards the great hall and out to the grand courtyard where effigies of the saints were long ignored with only the snow to accompany them.
Queen Gertrude ran, bloodied and battered from the stress and continuous strain she pushed herself just to be away from the raging beast who still marched to end her.
Crossing towards the courtyard, Queen Gertrude was becoming more frantic, even tumbling on hidden stones, which broke most major bones in her feet, delaying her in reaching sanctuary away from an imminent demise.
Though pain rushed all over her, Queen Gertrude still endured for a while, reaching towards the large fountain where a cross was laid right in the middle. Looking up, the once vile queen, cried—screeching as she reached out towards the cross before lightning struck through her eyes, blinding her until she felt the greatest of all pain right through her chest, with her heart pierced and mind drifting hastily to all those memories that turned her soul into dark and wicked.
With blood as dark as the night seeping through the queen's wounds and onto his large horns that ended her, the great elk remained in his position and dug deeper until the queen was no more, but a limp corpse. Once he was satisfied, he released himself and stared down at Queen Gertrude's body, which suddenly burned, blazing until she turned into fine ashes—swept away with the freezing winds.
The great elk left, winning the war but still battling the dark fields as he began to feel lightheadedness. His head was spinning while he laboured in his breathing. Carefully looking at his surroundings, he could feel everything was spinning with colours dancing until black and white flashed right before him. He stumbled on his hooves, tumbling and walking awkwardly as he returned inside the palace. He bellowed his loudest bugle, to which the whole place seemed to shake, and the breeze came swirling with infamous pace and madness about it. With the vile queen's blood now running from the tip of his horns and onto his head, the elk looked more like a spectre from Hades rather than the tamed animal from the frozen forest.
Returning to the throne, the great elk finally surrendered and succumbed to the unfathomable fatigue as he felt his skin peeling off him like a woeful prey being slaughtered by invisible hands. He could even sense that flames came upon him, burning him like what happened to the queen. No more of his strength, the elk slowly lay before the throne, closing his eyes, wailing his last sentiment while his mind remembered no one but Maria Blanca, his pale princess, who remained in her infinite slumber.