#thank you again for starting us off so wonderfully! ;w;/ I'm so stoked to explore their painful yet beautiful journey together!

[howthesleeplesswander]

Two days. She allowed herself—or, perhaps forced herself—to wait two days.

The citizens of Rosas were so strong. Faced with their joy at reuniting with their long-lost wishes, one could almost forget the heinous acts committed by the man they once revered as king.

Almost. Amaya was not as strong as her people.

She was happy for them; truly and wholeheartedly. There was nothing fake about her smile as she watched her citizens come together and take the first steps toward making their dreams come true. It was fine that no one realized how cruel it was. No one wondered how their queen could be happy when her own dream had nearly been destroyed by the person she'd vowed to share it with.

It was a different kind of hurt than any she'd ever known: like a living thing shackled within her chest cavity, clawing and tearing at her heart as if it had been the one to cage it there. Not even the happiness all around could quell it. Indeed, there was only one thing that could.

And so, in the darkest hours of her second sleepless night, Amaya swept through the castle halls. She didn't dare stop for fear that the courage to continue would abandon her. The few servants she passed didn't dare ask why the queen was up at this hour or why she hadn't even changed into her nightclothes.

It wasn't until she reached the dungeon stairs that she paused. When she pressed a steadying hand to her chest, the pain she felt had nothing to do with the dark bruise marring from her collarbone to the neckline of her gown. (Her Matteo had always been warm and loving—now she knew how vicious his magic could be.) A hurricane of nerves, uncertainty, and heartache roiled beneath her palm. But in the eye of the storm, Amaya knew one thing:

She had to do this. She had to know.

Head held high and shoulders squared, her steps didn't waver as she descended. For her own sake, Amaya braced herself for anger, for the corrupt ramblings of a madman. But when she stood before the dungeon's only occupied cell and Magnifico's voice reached her, he sounded...

No. She wouldn't be weakened by hope. Outwardly, she remained impassive. Guarded.

"There is no precaution that is too excessive after everything you've done." Her voice was carefully measured. Lacking any trace of affection no matter how much it pained her. Magnifico was no longer just her beloved, her king; he was a criminal, and a traitor to Rosas. She knew that he deserved to be here. Yet her own traitorous heart still anguished at the sight of him suffering this fate of his own making.

"You seem to have calmed," she observed. The bars between them made it difficult, but she scrutinized what she could see of her husband's face. "Are you...yourself again?"

@howthesleeplesswander || are we ready to die? i think we're ready to die 8'D

He had no concept of time down here. Only that enough time had passed for his mind to clear, reality to assert itself, and King Magnifico to find—

Well, a dungeon cell was no more befitting a king than the mirror just as abhorrently containing him. So, what was he? After all he had done for Rosas, the sacrifices he’d made, the protection he’d offered them for years beyond count, they would treat their king like some common criminal? His queen would dare to turn her back on…

His queen. Amaya. Amaya.

Magnifico had run his muddled mind through the events of that day on a near tireless loop: picking at bits and pieces of his memory, recollecting flashes here, a foggy and distorted mess there. And despite all that he had gathered—a puzzle he’d had plenty of time to build—he’d yet to trace back to what had offended her so. What had antagonized her, driven her to stand against him as if he were the villain betraying the very kingdom he had built?

I built this. We built this.

And he’d promised from the beginning he’d do anything and everything it took to protect it. No questions asked. No holds barred. Magnifico used that book because he had to. The people hadn’t given him a choice; if he had let them—

No. No, no no. We said we’d never let that happen again.

But nevertheless, here he was. Dethroned. Defamed. He’d almost convinced himself his queen planned on letting him rot eternally, but when he heard the creak of a door on that fateful day—could’ve been morning, afternoon… or perhaps his darling had decided to pay an evening visit when all had quieted down—Magnifico hadn’t needed to see her to know. Her footsteps were a recognizable rhythm, soft and elegant, down the steps. Somehow, the echo seemed to penetrate his magical prison just as well, and in some way, each beat trembled down to his core.

When she stood outside the bars, however, peered in at that loathsome little mirror on the wall, he was ready to face her. That is, he’d convinced the faint flutter in his chest that he was.

“You’ve placed a magical mirror in which I am already very securely contained—trust me, I’ve had plenty of time to determine that’s the case—within a literal prison cell,” he observed blandly, head cocking while a bitter smile tugged on his lips. “Is that not just a touch excessive, my dear?”