Queen Of Hatred

The Mirror's Mirage

"Who....Who am I?" My voice shook.

"Why did it have to be like this? Why couldn't I have been born into a proper life? Then all of this would not have happened. You would still be Samantha. You would.....still be yourself." I cried out as I caressed the cheek of my reflection. The glass was cold and lifeless. It did not meet my foolish expectations of a warm human face.

The tears in her eyes bore caves into my heart. Had I always looked so sorrowful and helpless in the past?

I pressed my forehead against the glass.

"Truly. Who am I? A girl with a dream, or a princess with power?" I took a deep breath.

The answer is pretty obvious. I am Samantha Moralles. The curse. The mistake. The 'thing that must not be named'. I am the one who caused my mother's death. I am the one who caused my father to lose his status. I am the one who caused my brother to be ill. Or at least, that's what I was taught all my life. 

"That man, my father...." I choked out a laugh. "He never loved me. There were days I was beaten for staring at him with disdain. There were days I was starved for speaking my truth. There were the days I was raped when he missed my mother a little too much."

I placed my hand around my neck and squeezed my throat. "There were days he would do that to me as well. It was a bitter-tasting memory. All those days, I suffered. All those days, I cried. All those days, I cursed the God I worshipped. They were all so clear in my mind."

"Thou shall not kill." Said God, yet there were days when I wanted to slaughter that demon. Any second, he was vulnerable. Any second, his eyes did not meet mine, I felt the urge to just grab him and let the true devil inside me escape. But, of course, I did nothing. After all, I was still a fearful girl. What if I failed? What if he won like he always had? That scared me. He scared me.

All that hatred, fear and disdain was bottled up inside me until my fingers touched a pen for the first time. All those emotions I felt could be released through my ink and would cement themselves as truth, on the paper once it had dried. I wrote of dragons that breathed fire, brave knights that slayed thousands, and ugly goblins who captured maidens. Those stories all brought me joy. The joy I had lacked and craved for years, but I was not satisfied.

Those stories brought me joy, yes, but they were so unrealistic. So out of reach. How could I ever hope to ride a dragon, slay thousands, and save a maiden? And that's where it had all begun. 

Firstly, there was King Luther, the evil, spiteful, and corrupt King of Algoria. He was made in the image of my father. The only thing that separated the two were their features and their status. That was intentional. Yes, I wanted this story to be more realistic, but I didn't want it to be a copy-and-paste of my real life. I didn't intend for this story to be that depressing.

Then, there was Queen Ruby. Her cause of disappearance unknown. She was like my mother, only, that I knew why my mother wasn't here. It was because of me. Then, there was Arthur. Molded by the jealousy and malice of my brother. He was held in high regard, yet still, he envied my healthy body, so, whenever Father beat me. Whenever he degraded me, my brother would only watch and jeer me. I felt so useless. I felt so weak.

I created Princess Grace. A sweet girl, but whenever she felt wronged, she became bold and shone bright. She, unlike the others, was completely opposite from me. I didn't write to be like me or share any traits of me, for that matter. I wanted her to be something great, something worthy, something fierce—something I was not.

I gave her people to love. I gave her people to hate. I gave her life. I gave her purpose, yet I could not find any for myself. So, when I entered this world and took control of her body, the purpose I had lacked and craved for in my past life, fell so quickly into my hands. For once, I had a role. For once, I felt worthy. For once, I had power.

Very quickly, I grew attached to that power. I became paranoid that someday, somehow, I would lose all this that I had. That I would wake up one day in the prison of my father's home. So, with my insanity, I killed all those who I deemed as threats. I didn't just kill them, I tortured them, degraded them. Loraine, Rosa, the guard, and then Arthur. 

Rosa had it worst of all. She threatened to take away something I loved. Something that I wanted to love me. I was a flower feeding on the dry dirt without a drop of love to help me flourish, but she.....she was a great oak tree, with enough love to sustain her for the rest of her life. So what was wrong in me taking this one thing? I would've stopped right there, of course, but, she had to rub it in my face. That I had to scheme and fight for what I wanted while she just.....got it. So, I did what had to be done, to put her in her place. To show her that she had no right to belittle me! That I was powerful. That I was to be feared.

Now I see that my judgement was clouded, long after I had killed her. Her spirit, vengeful. Now Rosa has decided it is best to protect her people from the 'monster' that lurks in Algoria. Who's to blame her? But she can't separate me from the ones I love. She can't keep me away from Isabella. I care for her too much. Or do I really?

I have murdered and threatened so many because of the fear of losing everything. But if my hate is so unwarranted, who's to say that my love isn't just as unreasonable? Who's to say that my love isn't only fueled by my fear? If my judgement on character is so awful, how am I to tell if the people I love, love me as well?

If that is so, was my hatred towards Loraine, Rosa, the guard, and Arthur truly valid? 

Were they really? Did they deserve to be treated that way? To die a gruesome death by my hand? I truly do not know.

In the past, I would've most likely blamed my actions on my father's abuse and mistreatment of me, but now, I see that I am no better than him. My actions are mine, and mine alone, and using my father as a crutch will never help me. It never has, anyway. All this degrading. All this hate. All this torture. All this murder that I have committed. I am only continuing the cycle my father had began. To create, hate, and destroy. I followed all his steps perfectly. He would've been so proud of me if he hadn't despised me so much. All my life, I have tried so hard to never be like him that I have, unknowingly, become just like him. Life's funny, isn't it?

Yes, I am evil. Yes, I am a monster. I am a monster for killing these people without reason. I am a monster for using Grace's body as a vessel to carry out my malicious intentions. After all, no one will say, "Samantha did this!" No. How could they ever know the name of a nobody like me? They will all gather and spread the news of my wicked ways under Grace's name.

And to think, I created Grace out of hope. Hope that somehow my life could ever be as blissful as hers, but then I began to envy my own creation. To envy her life. Can you imagine? Feeling jealous over some 'thing'  that should be less than you? But she was not. She was more than me. So much more....than me. So I began to hate her unknowingly. I somehow dismissed my hatred for Grace as pity for her. I deluded myself into thinking I was 'helping' her.

I fell to the ground, weeping like a child. "And now I have destroyed her! I destroyed her marriage, her world, and her body!" 

My chest burned in guilt. I looked into the mirror before me and spoke, my voice quavering. "Grace.....Grace! If you can somehow hear me....please....let me to stay! Don't take this from me! I took everything from you! I know! But I can't leave! I can't go back!" I sobbed. "I....can't go back. I just.....can't."

"I know that I am wicked. I know that I am a monster. But why should I continue to suffer? Why should I live in never-ending sadness? To be remembered as a broken girl? To humour God? No! I am tired—so tired—of being weak. Why should I apologize to God for all the destruction I have caused? Has he ever apologized to me for giving me such a horrible life?"

"I am no longer weak. I will fight for my place to stay here. Whether you like it or not."

[Grace's POV]

"Is this enough proof for thou, mine princess?" Featherstone asked, annoyed, as she gestured toward her mirror. "Much better than a diary, yes?"

With reluctancy, I agreed. "Yes, Featherstone."