From the Indie Side by Indie Side Publishing Page B

in a mirror no more.
    She waited anxiously for night to fall.
    When King Stephen entered her chambers, her
lady-maids politely excused themselves and scattered.
    Stephen’s face was pained. Joanna knew from
his nightly visits to his queen’s chapel that he did not wish to be
in the room with her. But she did not care. She would see it
through, no matter what the cost to Stephen. She would do whatever
it took to stop the dead queen’s curse. He began unlacing his
doublet. Joanna waited. And then she looked into her mirror and
screamed.
    It was her face. Queen Mary’s face. She was
coming out of the glass. The mirror wept scarlet. And that was when
Joanna realized that when Stephen had sworn anyone who might follow
him at night would die, it was not by his hand. It was by hers, by
his Mary, his jealous Mary. It was her hand which kept him bound to
death.
    “STAY AWAY!” Queen Mary screamed, her voice
mingling with Joanna’s terror.
    The king turned, scanning the room for the
danger that caused her fear.
    “The Queen!” Joanna said, her hand trembling
as she pointed at the mirror. “The Queen!” she cried out again.
    Stephen’s face paled as he shook his head
disbelievingly. “What?”
    “She is there!” Joanna sobbed. “Right
there!”
    Stephen shook his head, as if waking from a
dream or a spell. He swiftly tied his garments and strode out of
the room, leaving Joanna alone with nothing but the mirror.
    “Staaaaaay awaaaaay…” Queen Mary hissed.
    Joanna’s ladies rushed inside to calm her
hysteria, to stroke her hair and murmur words of comfort, but it
was no use.
    The blood that dripped from the mirror did
not disappear.
    And in the morning, the broken body of one of
Joanna’s ladies was found upon the ground outside the castle. The
whispers began that the madness of Queen Joanna was catching, a
poison which would invade the mind and lead to death.
    But Joanna knew the truth. It was not her,
but the queen in the mirror, who caused these terrible deeds.
    Her girl’s death was Queen Mary’s
revenge.
    And it would never end. She knew it. It would
never stop. Mary would never allow her husband to move on. The
wedding would have to be annulled if either of them hoped to
survive. And so Joanna strode into the throne room where her
husband held court. Her ebony hair hung loose and unbrushed. The
ties on her clothing were held as best she had been able to do
herself. She did not care. It could not wait. His advisors and
attendants were busy discussing matters in the cavernous hall and
paid her no mind. She walked up to Stephen on his dais, not pausing
to curtsey or even acknowledge his place with a tilt of her head.
Instead, she gripped his arm fiercely.
    “Your wife is alive,” Joanna said, knowing he
would not believe her.
    The king looked at her as if she were a
raving madwoman. “What did you say?”
    At the sound of his voice, the entire room
stopped and looked at the royal couple.
    “I said,” Joanna answered, lowering her
voice, “That your old wife is alive.”
    Her words struck him like a blow to the face.
“How could that possibly be?” said King Stephen, pity in his eyes.
“If she is alive, where is she?”
    Joanna wet her lips. “She lives in the
mirrors of the palace.”
    The court broke out into titters, and then
into guffaws, and then gales of laughter.
    “I speak the truth,” she insisted, hot tears
of embarrassment coming to her. “She has bewitched you, my liege.
She lives in the mirror and will stop at nothing to destroy
us.”
    “My wife,” he replied slowly and succinctly,
so that there would be no misunderstanding his seriousness, “is
dead. And, the gods rest her blessed soul, she would never seek to
destroy a woman so unworthy to be her successor as you. You will
never speak to me about this again.”
    “But my liege—”
    “NEVER!” he roared.
    Her face burning with shame, she swiftly left
the room with the few shreds of dignity that she could gather
around