From the Journals of Zame the Queen Slayer

I heard them before I could even see what was happening. The heavy pounding of feet along with the metallic clash of swords and armor grew louder with each passing step. The front door suddenly swung open, allowing several intruders to barge into my home at once. Swarms of the Queen's Guard came pouring into my house like some kind of tsunami of death. They came wearing all black. Their faces were cold, dark, and fierce.

“Mother!” I cried, limping my way towards my frail mother. My leg burned in protest from the venomous bite I had just suffered moments before. The fang marks were already fading from my flesh, but the pain was still there. It bore a horrid purple-orange tint around the bite, emphasizing the deadly toxins that were now coursing through my veins.

Two dark elves with oily black hair moved to hold my mother around her biceps in their steely grasp, reaching her much faster than I had. Her raven black hair fell across her face, hiding her defeated expression. The rest of the Queen's Guard stood behind her, faces impassive.

There seemed to be a silent signal that passed through the guards, and they straightened up at once with their chins pointed upward. It was there, standing terrified in my own home with a badly mauled leg that suddenly didn’t feel so painful anymore, that I first laid eyes upon the Darkling Queen.

Her hair was deathly white and fell all the way to her waist. Her gray fingers were long and bony with sharp black nails that resembled elongated talons. Her tall frame was willowy and thin, something I would consider very fragile if I didn’t already know she was the single most powerful dark elf alive. Her face was frightening, beautiful of course, but fierce. Those blood red eyes of hers spoke volumes. They were cool and assessing, taking in the environment around her with a great show of distaste. The humble confines of the cottage were clearly unsatisfactory to the queen.

Her malevolent demon eyes shifted in my direction, first at my face, and then slowly toward my bleeding leg. She regarded it with sudden interest, no doubt watching the purple-orange bruise recede ever so slightly.

“Little one, tell us what happened to your leg, and no harm will come to you or your mother.” Queen Zephyr, the Darkling Queen, spoke to me. Her voice was deadly soft and alluring. I should have immediately picked up on the deceptive tone, but I was a mere child back then. A stupid child.

“No, Zamyrla. Don’t,” my mother warned.

“Silence,” the Darkling Queen hissed. I could feel the force of her command fill the room. There was something so primal and authoritative about elven royalty, that even the guards flinched. One could never disobey, even if they wanted to.

“I, I was bitten,” I stuttered.

“By what?”

“A kelpie.”

“Yet, you are walking around nearly unscathed. You should be dead, little one,” she said with a smile. The queen’s bony fingers awkwardly patted my head in an attempt to be gentle, but the movement was too stiff. Too forced. It didn’t comfort me. “How did you survive, little Zamyrla?”

“A potion,” I answered nervously, staring at my mother’s frightened lavender eyes. She held so much love and adoration in that stare, I thought I might vomit, even then. “Brewed from my mother. It can cure kelpie venom.” A lie. Always a lie.

Queen Zephyr suddenly laughed. It was bitter sounding and without any real humor. She turned toward her guard and casually flicked her fingers toward my mother in a subtle gesture. A white haired male broke apart from the rest of the group.

“Leiona the Restorer,” the Darkling Queen sneered. “Your heinous witchcraft will not be tolerated. You must pay for your actions with your life.”

The white haired male unsheathed a long gleaming sword.

Time seemed to halt to an almost imperceptible pace as he slammed the sword into my mother’s chest. I heard her startled grunt of surprise before she sank to her knees.

I watched those shocked violet eyes fade into a blank stare as my mother–my mother–collapsed in the guard's grasp. Her green shirt started to seep blood and began to drip audibly on the floor. The dark elf yanked the sword from her chest, and I watched, horrified, as the blood continued to gush out of my broken mother like a dam. More and more of my mother's life spilled relentlessly onto the cold stone floor.

The male tossed my mother's limp body at my feet. Her dark hair brushed against my toes as she landed. I could only stare. A terrible wailing sound began to shriek so violently, that it took me a moment to realize the noise was coming from my own mouth.

“Let this be a reminder to us all. We will never forget what they did to all of Faery with their greed and witchcraft. All elves caught practicing the dark arts will be sentenced to death. No exceptions,” the Darkling Queen said coldly. “Come, little one. You belong to me now.”

“No!” I shrieked, finally able to formulate a discernible word as the guards moved to grab me. They made a mistake. My mother didn’t do anything. I healed my leg. It was me. Not her!

I felt a dark power surge to the surface, desperate to break free.

Zamyrla, you mustn't ever reveal yourself. They will come for you.

My mother’s old warning echoed in my mind as I screamed. Let them come. Consequences be damned. I released the meager hold of my still too new abilities, and faced the white haired queen, feeling the pulsing magic begin to swell within at an almost exponential rate. There was no holding this back. I had summoned the dark magic, and it was too late to put it back, even if I wanted to. All of these years spent in hiding and learning to control my abilities seemed utterly worthless. How easily I could call the magic to me now, as if it had been patiently waiting, biding its time ever so carefully until the day I decided to one day use it.

And like a cataclysmic supernova, I released myself fully upon the Darkling Queen.