From the Indie Side by Indie Side Publishing

she
pushed it open just a crack and looked in.
    The room was like a private chapel filled
with holy icons. The king knelt upon a velvet prayer stool, his
hands clasped and his head bowed. But he did not pray to the gods.
Surrounding him, on every wall, were portraits of the dead queen
gazing down upon him.
    The blood in Joanna’s veins curdled. Queen
Mary looked just like her. Her hair. Her eyes. The shape of their
faces was the same. They could have been sisters, twins even.
Joanna backed slowly away.
    Whose face did this king see when he looked
into her eyes? And if it was a face which reminded him so much of
this woman that he loved, that he longed for, why was he so
repulsed? What happened to cause such guilt that he barred himself
from Joanna’s bed?
    As she walked back to her room, the wind
began howling across the flat and barren land around the castle.
Joanna wrapped her shawl tightly around her arms as a draft swept
through the hallway, chilling her to the bone.
    The wind picked up. It seemed to follow her
steps and match her stride for stride. It whistled through the
cracks in the windows and the nooks of the stone. It chased her
down the passage, accusing her of her trespass upon the king. And
then, there was a sound that made Joanna stop.
    “Staaaaay awaaaaay…” the voice whispered.
    Joanna spun.
    No one was there.
    “Make yourself known!” she demanded, her
voice wavering.
    The wind continued to howl, but no one
revealed themselves.
    Joanna’s heart pounded as fear tore through
her.
    The wind gathered strength again and with it
came the same voice. “Staaaaay awaaaay…” it said again.
    Joanna backed down the hall, peering into the
darkness to see who taunted her. Suddenly, there was someone beside
her! She turned. And could have laughed. It was her own reflection.
Her own reflection! She placed her hand upon her heart. It was a
looking glass hanging on the wall, and the face looking back at her
was her own.
    And then the wind stopped.
    The face in the mirror was not her
own. It was a face like hers—but not hers. It was the face she had
seen in the portraits in King Stephen’s secret chamber.
    “STAY AWAY!” Queen Mary screamed from inside
the mirror.
    Later, Joanna was found unconscious in the
middle of the hallway with no sign of what the trouble might be.
Her ladies helped her to bed, whispering that the king must have
driven her fearfully from her chamber, perhaps terrified her to the
point of exhaustion. They clucked and tended to her, but Joanna
could not tell them what had happened. They would think her mad,
just like their former queen. And indeed, Joanna thought, they
would be right.
    At last tucked into her own bed, her lamp was
extinguished and she closed her eyes to sleep.
    But her dreams were fitful, full of colors
and shapes that crushed her. A razor voice pierced her eardrum like
a needle. She needed to escape. She needed to get away. Suddenly,
she was walking along the parapets of the castle. The inky sky was
before her.
    She was all alone.
    Except she wasn’t. There was someone there. A
woman. A queen.
    Queen Mary was suddenly before her. She stood
there, this woman with Joanna’s face, but with burning eyes. Her
gown was the color of midnight. Her black hair blew free. She
pointed out into the dark void of the air.
    “Jump to your death!” the queen commanded.
Her voice brooked no denial.
    Joanna could not back away, could not fight
or protest.
    “Jump and die!” the queen commanded once
more.
    Unwillingly, Joanna’s feet stepped up onto
the parapet. The ground below was calling sweetly to her to leap
into thin air, to shatter her bones in its embrace.
    “Jump!” said the queen a third time.
    Joanna placed her leg out, ready to take the
final step, when strong arms wrapped around her waist and hauled
her back to safety.
    And that was when she realized her eyes were
open and she was awake. She was at the top of the palace wall,
being held down by a guard, his heavy