“Have a drink with me.”
Annalise’s voice was rich and dark, akin to the fine wine currently swirling around in her crystal goblet. Just the heady smell of the stuff managed to make Anya feel far away from herself. She couldn’t imagine what it was doing to her sister. Annalise never drank.
A sharp pause. A twist of confusion in Anya’s brow.
The mahogany clock in the corner of the dining room struck three, but the early morning hour mattered little to Secluth’s late queen. She simply sat back in her chair at the head of the table and stared straight ahead. Anya was grateful for the space between them. Her fingers trembled as she picked up her own glass and downed its bitter contents. It warmed her throat. She despised the feeling.
“They say Ruby is with child.”
The obsidian crown atop Annalise’s head gleamed eerily in the candlelight. She spoke as if the events of the past month meant nothing to her.
Anya didn’t know what to say or how to make her stop.
“Cyrus is quite pleased with the way things have turned, though I can’t say the same for his parents. Pretentious…the whole lot of them.”
Perhaps she should just leave. Nothing kept Anya pinned to her seat, aside from a strange sense of curiosity that couldn’t be quenched by the disturbance her sister had caused. Annalise’s face was too gaunt: eyes too empty. Despite her revulsion, Anya couldn’t stop herself from taking in every detail.
“I suppose I’ve put off the question of an heir for too long.”
Anya’s silence finally seemed to register with Annalise.
“Are you all right?”
The question sounded just as naive and oblivious as she was.
She was most certainly not.
“Of course.”
If Anya closed her eyes, would Annaliese disappear? She did everything in her power not to blink her away, but the possibility worried her. Annalise was the physical manifestation of every betrayal and mistake Anya had ever made. Even then, there was still a hopeless part of Anya that missed her.
The Thornes used to share meals in this room. Speak of their days, their responsibilities, the things they dreaded, and everything they aspired for.
Now, Anya was sharing a drink with a lie. How does one move on from such a premonition?
A tear slipped down her cheek. She willed the rest back and tried to regain some semblance of sanity. It was not as if Anya could ask how this moment had come to pass. Asking that meant confessing something else entirely. She tried to remind herself that this wasn’t truly happening, that her chance encounter with the devil was some sort of drugged haze she could eventually overcome.
But it felt real enough.
“Do you remember the time when we picked blackberries by the Sommertone?” Annalise asked. Anya poured herself more wine. “I scraped my knees on the rocks and you carried me the whole way home.”
Anya pushed aside the glass and grabbed the bottle.
“How about when one of the stable boys cut off my hair, and you hacked off yours to match?” Annalise continued. “Or when Mother found my letters to Jack, and you took the blame for it because you knew she wouldn’t let me debut that summer if she knew.”
“Enough,” Anya replied, her voice ringing out in the shadowed room.
“What have I done to make you act this way?”
“You’re supposed to be dead, and I’m supposed to be queen and you can’t be here—”
“I can’t remember what happened,” Annalise said.
“I’m sorry. Is that why you’ve come? Because you needed to hear me say it? Well, I am. I can’t sleep at night. No matter how many times I wash my hands, your blood still stains them. I’m. Sorry. You can pass on in peace knowing I’ll never have it again.”
“Anya. Why am I so cold?”
“Because I killed you.” Anya sobbed.
The look on Annalise’s face. It was that night, a thousand times over.
“You were always Mother’s and Father’s favorite,” Anya admitted. “I just…I just wanted to know what it would have been like to—”
Anya finally closed her eyes, unable to bear it any longer.
“It wasn’t supposed to turn out the way it did.”
Georgia Hope writes queer fantasy with a southern gothic twist and essays that break down the turbulent relationship between adolescence and academia. Currently a high school senior in the state of Texas, her idea of a good time is exploring haunted small towns with a notebook, camera, and a large cup of iced coffee. When she’s not making her readers cry you can find her gathering more bizarre lore for her next story or having an existential crisis on her instagram page @georgiainabook.
Featured image by Will Tarpey on Unsplash.
