Vicky Darkblood
a short play
Vicky Darkblood
by Opehlia Everfall
Ickibod The Empress will see you now, child.
They were no child indeed. She was a force of nature writ by fate at large. Something within was without and had come for how she’d shout.
Vicky Darkblood enters
Sumptuous elegance of bespokely human designs would fall to the throne room floor if not for harnesses fastened by those of kind who’d held the doors for Princess Darkblood’s entrance.
Ickibod Step forward with haste, cursed child. Time is of no patience for your make.
Cauldrons boiled with brew of blood from fallen chambermen as she’d paced forward by one landed slipper after next. Her robe was torn—frayed—dragging behind.
Ickibod With haste! Insolence will be repaid in full, you wretch.
Vicky Darkbood You will speak to me with the proper reverence or pay for it in shortest order you sniveling idiot! You bow or I bring it upon you and all of your seed!
Reactions birthed reaction and Vicky’s would see the man to grovel for how he’d forgot at once, in hope, the station he might hold if this seemingly fortuitous falling of a princess proved less advantageous than he previously imagined the case.
Empress Mehroba Step forward now, child.
The colony’s throne room was enormous, that titular headpiece twicefold. Vicky saw to stand where others might kneel to bow, no matter her supposed place, no longer held by the ownership of lying dictators such as that supposed mother before her.
Vicky Darkblood spits to floor
Darkblood Will you answer my plea for help or take me as your enemy? I’m not here for discussion with you.
Mehroba You would dare…
Darkblood I dare not. I act. I speak in truth. You lie. You hide. You will pay by God’s righteous hand and the fear within you chooses to pretend yourself some martyr—of what?
Ickibod You cannot speak to The Empress this way—child!
Glare was shot twice by that woman upon the throne and action met reaction to see a man-made mouthpiece murdered maliciously and most mercifully to all in that palace. Guards surrounding her reverence knew of the sign by eyes alone. Another command was unheard but understood and sent an envoy scrambling in haste to clamor through the heavyset doors at strength of only his overmatched arms.
Darkblood One less cretin to spew your filth feels good. Watching you take him because you are a petty lesser who cannot hold reflection of your own worthlessness—a joy. Owning your liar’s heart by right of truth my greatest pleasure which I will take to my grave for dying in pride.
Mehroba You will still your voice and let me speak or get your wish.
Darkblood You will die by right of all that’s right and God will see it done regardless of how I act or you chose to perceive my shouting of his truth!
Olafur enters
Another man of lower caste would see to wipe the orator’s chair before taking place where his fallen lover had only just been swept partially aside. His shaking hands would betray presentation of faithfulness towards The Empress and her stare would see right through him. If she’d had another competent linguist at her disposal she might’ve killed him too.
Darkblood This man’s boots now stain by blood of his fellow pederast. Will you not see end to this horror you hold in our chambers? Will you lose this country and palace—our home—to what you know is wrong and untrue for no reason alone but your failure to accept my rightness? I am the throne! I am The Empress to be! Respect will be paid to my opinion in the now! I have been raped by your protected class of slave made soldier and you will see to it that our ways are changed or you will feel my wrath for every moment. I know you. I see you. You cannot act against me because you see what I am, but you will not act for me because you fear what you are not.
Empress Mehroba would not speak for some time. Her eyes had gone pale. This woman before her was beyond her making. They were of something foul to her taste. She’d not know how to act and speaking would feel disingenuous to that fact.
Darkblood If you let this happen again I will see a maid of your chambers to slip into your room and tuck you in tightly. You will know the taste of my pain in mirrors of grace. She will treat you well like your men have punished me.
Mehroba How dare you. How dare you! You’re sick! You’re—disgusting.
Princess Darkblood would see herself to smile. She’d hold a place for interpreting the grandeur of her circumstance through presence of sight and smell. She felt good for once in some long while—despite all which had befallen her recent past.
Darkblood Something in you portrays a truth you might not want others to see, mother. Trust I know. Trust I see. Trust I have the courage to act.
Mehroba Do you speak of threat to The Empress?
Darkblood Did you hear a threat?
Mehroba You’ve lost your mind. My son is dead. You deserve everything you’ve earned with this place and all you’ve decided to take—my baby boy. He would’ve been Emperor. He would have done great things!
Gasps proved worthy of a devilish grin when read by the ears of Vicky Darkblood. She hadn’t a care for her mother’s petty ploys—no matter how true of heart they’d been to the soon fallen empress—the fact these men held sway beneath her ignorant ramblings and allowed themselves steered by her absurd proclamations proved beyond her means of understanding or caring to learn how.
Olafur May we sweep her to the cellars my Empress?
Mehroba Did I command you to? Does your child-loving fool of a mount not call you to consider shutting your mouth and keeping it closed? What would you like me to do?
Empress Mehroba was standing, furious, clawing off her jewelry in seeming loss of control. She’d throw each clasp, chain, and ring towards her daughter. They’d all miss but prove some saddest vision even Vicky found pitying. This fallen goddess. Her mother. She’d been so kind when a lie. To see what they became when she’d finally transcended the suppression consciously wrought upon her through life—casting disregard towards her life’s stains of horrendous malfunction in support—proved the woman some failure of seeing good by the plainest of sights.
Empress Mehroba What would you have me do with you? What can I do with people like these men who surround us? Why do you think you get to be who you want? What is wrong with you? Do what I say! Be who I tell you to be! I’m right! I am right! I am right goddamn you to hell. You evil child of Satan. You’re wrong and bad. Something rotten became of you not from me. You have no place here again if you speak a word more and do not repent for all that you’ve become.
There hadn’t been a breath spent. No dares to step a foot would sound. Every second drew more from the tension as Vicky stared down her mother with eyes seeing so far-out she’d not feel to know how a woman might be brought down by words still knowing herself most capable. Princess Darkblood could do anything with the power of her voice. It was her gift and one she’d seek to wield against and for those heart spoke of being true and false. The language of challenge would be the same to all and extreme with implications most explicit, their reaction would tell the tale. This instance of need proved different. Her chances ran to one. She needed to say it right and quick—whole and true—smart and vicious—ruthlessly tactile and powerfully numbing to that woman who saw her to death by life of lies conscripted.
Vicky Darkblood Your son always hated you.
Her words would not be acted against as The Princess proceeded in leaving the throne room at disregard for time spent meandering in stare of those who might stand beside her mother going forward. The Empress had not seemed to react. That comment too innocuous and of some make she hadn’t seen to expect or act against. For her daughter to have spoken those five words which would prove in times come soon to reflect as truthful—an empress would end her life and Vicky Darkblood would take that place. She would unmake the wrongness of her mother and their kind, she would see fortune to all, and the throne of her lineage would burn in a pyre for all to see and know their place was being made more equal by the day, hour, minute, and second that their rightful empress remained awake and in power. She would see all to know themselves kings and queens, empresses and emperors, gardeners and champions of warfare, creatives and consumers, those of faith and those of science, people who’d only want a home to hold their loves, along with every human person no matter of gender, race, creed, presentation, orientation, or choice of will that didn’t infringe upon another’s right to live freely themself. Vicky Darkblood’s reign would begin soon. The splendors wrought would be brightest of all and bleed into all times to come. Every soul who dared to seek place beside in earnest compassion for making right what had been surrendered by her own family’s makings would be held to breast—squeezed most tightly—allowed to cultivate some space their own to surrender toward their own truest nature. All would be good. All would be well. Nothing was written but all would be seen to. God was watching and with everyone always forevermore.
