The Naboo Royal Handmaidens Are A Group Of Young Women Handpicked To Aid The Queen Of Naboo. On The Surface,

Get Up

------- Fight back.

----------There's a reason for yesterday.

-------------------You've got this. You always did.

Swallow your pain. Only then will you be free....

JOHN WICK: CHAPTER 3 – PARABELLUM

X

It didn't take the Camorra High Guard long to arrive in Rome Airport. The flight was booked first class courtesy of the Iris Twins who made the arrangements swiftly and efficiently as was their custom. Sable had trained them well. Two and a half hours later they touched down clearing the runway and being given priority access through express security and customs clearance. Thank God he'd arranged to have Lalienna's international passport processed quickly. Otherwise it would have made the trip through security cumbersome. Not that he cared. Money talks. His money practically screamed the national anthem. Security and Customs Officers made haste to let the Camorra High Guard pass unmolested. Their reputation proceeded them. But the security staff were curious at seeing a new face amongst the men and woman that made the line up of his usual crew. The Prince of Rome wasn't interested in conversation. He was dressed in Versace, dripped in gold bracelets, rings and watch and for an explanation he merely took Lalienna's hand in his own, and kissed her knuckles in front of them. Security staff and their sharp eyes took stock of the ring of the Camorra that graced the young woman's finger. They stopped asking questions immediately; and made sure the High Guard were escorted by airport security to their luxury Italian cars and permitted to leave the international terminal completely unhindered thereafter.

They were saluted when he returned to his mansion. Hector had made the call to the D'Antonio Estate manager to advise that they had returned from their extended stay in London and would now take their usual residence with Mr. D'Antonio in his expansive and extremely luxurious home.

The D'Antonio Estate was nothing short of purely spectacular. It sat on just over twenty thousand square feet of land, was four stories tall, sported sixteen bedrooms, fourteen full sized bathrooms and was furnished in a classical contemporary style. Sporting a grand entrance that flowed into a regal pair of stair cases connecting different floors that had an overall enchanting atmosphere. The living areas were bright, beautiful and airy. The kitchen was massive and dripped in luxury and the dining area overlooked spectacular manicured terrence gardens that could be seen from the sweeping balconies. Study rooms, library, spa and gym. Weapons room, office, service rooms and guest rooms. The breathtaking Italian villa overlooking Calandrelli was one of the most fashionable and sought-after elite estates in the entire city. And  it had been built and owned by the Camorra for almost forty years. It was a gift that Lorenzo imparted on his son, not more than ten minutes drive from his palace where he kept residence with Gianna. Needing impendence and self acquirement, Santino was given the estate as a gift on his eightieth birthday. The estate also featured a live-in chef, an allotment of twelve maids and one butler who doubled as the estate manager. A tender hearted and gentle old man that had served the Camorra for almost as long as Santino had been alive. His name was Panchelli and he instantly fell in love with Lalienna the moment he laid eyes on her!

"Oh signore D'Antonio, hai trovato un diamante! Un diamante completo e puro in Inghilterra! Guardala! Che angelo! I cieli stessi canteranno lodi della sua bellezza! Vieni, signore, subito, prepara subito la stanza migliore per Miss DeMentriento!" (Oh Sir D'Antonio, you have found a diamond! A complete and pure diamond in England! Look at her! What an angel! The heavens themselves will sing praises of her beauty! Come, ladies, immediately, prepare the finest room for Miss DeMentriento at once!)

The old Italian butler clapped his hands briskly and instantly a team of white and blue uniformed women stripped Lalienna of her bags and belongings, taking them from Tony's hands and descended up the stairs in a flutter of happy chirping, singing praises that the master of the house had returned at last and brought back with him the finest new jewel the Camorra has ever seen!

Gianna had filled them in, in her brother's absence, that the Prince of Rome was returning with a new High Guard to compliment Lorenzo's impressive line up of militant power. Lorenzo approved without much preamble. If Gianna had clapped eyes on the girl and believed what she saw and was told, that was good enough for the aging Italian Crime King. He was content to know that his son was finally showing a little initiative and stopping all his hideous whoring. The stains of Marissa Conti would never wash free of the halls of his palace. It was Gianna that stopped Lorenzo ultimately from planning his own son's execution. Though why for, Lorenzo still wasn't entirely certain.

He would bide his time and see how this new flower to his garden of thorns would comport herself under the care of his High Guard.

The Italian Silk Mafia. That is what they were known as on the streets of Italy. And everyone knew them by name and sight. They were professionals. Civilised. Refined. Products of the new renaissance. He hoped for her sake that the ex-Iron Fortuna initiate would live up to his expectations. And tame his wayward son.

Back in his mansion, Santino and his crew were already making themselves at home. They all had their own private rooms in the estate and needed no permission to attend them. They had lived in this mansion for years at a time and were fully accustomed to its spectacular beauty.  Santino was gracious and extremely inviting. He demanded the team not ever stand on ceremony or ask permission of anything. The house was theirs as much as it was his and he insisted on nothing if not their complete and absolute enjoyment at all times. If they were hungry, they knew where the kitchen, pantry and larder were. The chef prepared three solid meals a day for both Camorra staff and domestic servants and even the servants were permitted to do as they pleased when they pleased...within reason of course. They had their own private wing of the house where the maids retreated after daily duties. They rose at 5AM and retired at 8PM Monday to Saturday. And they were always given Sunday's off duty and permitted to host their own families and friends in the estate so long as they did not interfere with their working arrangements or leisure activities of Mr. D'Antonio or his High Guard.

They always wore uniform in blue and white to clearly mark them as domestic assistants. They proudly wore brass name badges emblazoned with the Camorra family crest. The maids were a variety of ages. Some as young as 17. They were not wealthy women by any stretch of the imagination. Their backgrounds were mostly completely impoverished and wretched which was why Santino petitioned them into the care of his estate. So they would not starve on the streets. When they were not attending to their domestic duties of cleaning and washing and running the household, they were given hours upon hours of spectacular education. All paid for by Santino in hopes of the girls growing up to be safe and happy. Marrying into money, hopefully, where they would be kept in luxury and retire from the life of servitude he gave them. Though it was not a difficult or dangerous life. Rome was a beautiful city with thousands of years worth of history, culture, art and refinements.

They were happy girls! They had food and clothes and jewels and music. Mr. D'Antonio protected them as if they were his daughters. (or so they imagined, for they rather swooned over him and his classical handsome elegance. They knew he came from an old mafia crime family, but they did not ask questions and were just grateful to be given such a fortuitous turn where otherwise their lives would have seen them staving in the gutters or working as whores.)

It was almost 2AM now but the news of the Camorra High Guard's return to the estate drove them all from their beds in a frantic bustle of happy excitement. Santino immediately thanked Panchelli and the girls for their diligence, apologising profusely about the shockingly late hour of their arrival and insisting they all return to their beds and have tomorrow off in celebration for his return. Panchelli tried to argue that he lived and breathed to serve his master, and Santino acknowledged the man's passionate imploring but absolutely insisted he returns to his rooms and rest. For Santino and the guards were fully independent and self-sufficient men and women who knew very well how to run a household without a team of domestic staff. They could cook and clean and make beds for themselves. They didn't need help. If anything, their work in London had left the team entirely drained and now that they were home again they were grateful to just be left in peace to unpack their belongings in their private bedrooms and retire to their own decompressing pleasures.

Panchelli, seeing that this was definitely true, apologised a thousand times, kissed Santino and Lalienna and each of the other guards in turn before calling off his maids and retiring again to the servants quarters to rest.

Santino was immediately better. Happy, boisterous! The demons that had tormented him of the past few months in London had completely vanished. Now he was absorbed with excitement as new invigorated focus because he had his dancer, his Spanish flower here in his home in Rome and he could hardly believe his good fortune! This was real! Really real! It was incredible! He was overjoyed. He welcomed her to his estate, personally showed her to her rooms, he stayed with her happily letting her unpack and make herself at home.

He brought her wine and cheeses and bread and salami. He showered her with praises, with romance and love and adoration and everything was as if this whole horrific mess had never happened to begin with.

The guards all retreated contentedly to their own amusements in the mansion. Ares sought to play her videogames. Tony and Curtis drank and played cards until they were tired and went to bed. Hector smoked and read a book on the balcony. Christov and Marcus decided to hit the spa bath to unwind as it looked over the glittering Italian city.

They were home. Finally home.

No one had died. No one had been mutilated or abused beyond recognition.

Well... none save for Lalienna, who wore Santino's initial upon her neck. Where once a love bite had been.

And the only death was the loss of her child. But only Hector and Christov knew the truth about that. To the rest of the guard, it appeared as though the young woman was merely recovering from the pained aftershock that came from a difficult argument with her lover over one night's indiscretion.

They prayed amongst themselves that Lalienna would never do it again. For they knew, deep down that for all their bluster and fiery words... Santino was still their employer and if he rose his hand and put a hit out on her lover, they would be forced to obey. He signed off their pay checks every month and made sure they were kept in immaculate luxury. As much as Santino gave, he would take away. They were still organized criminals. They were still assassins, hit men, gang members. They had clout, they had reputation, power and money. But they still had a city to run. There were still weapons trading, whore houses, drug rings and war offerings that had to take place in the background. Blood for blood. And eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. Rome paid their coffers for protection. Against family feuds, home invasions, theft and property destruction. They still made deals to rough people up. To confront and intimidate. To protect their boarders and keep the streets safe from other gangs that might get a little antsy about who really had the bigger pair of balls around here.

But none of that mattered right now.

For at last, before the sunrise, Santino brought Lalienna back to his master bedroom. And it was nothing like the luxury that he had imported for him in the Continental London. It was better. More opulent. It spoke of power and refinement and was entirely masculine and extremely tastefully elegant. His linen was still two thousand thread count luxury Egyptian cotton... in black. Because he loved the contrast of pale skin on ebony linen.

And he was still passionate and romantic and adoring to a fault. Sensual. Erotic. He wanted her. He wanted to taste her, touch her. But he was afraid. She was afraid. They had had their first-ever really big disagreement in their short relationship. So much had happened so quickly. He had rushed things. He had moved too fast. He scared the girl. Like he had on that first Wednesday evening when his lust took control and he had bled and mounted her there on that hotel room dining table. That almost killed him that night.

And now, having almost lost his mind in grief and anger over her fleeting, drunk affair... He vowed to himself. Never again.

He spoke to her for hours. Apologising, telling her his thoughts and feelings as they lay in bed together. Naked, because he needed to touch her skin even though he didn't dare to make love to her in this condition. He told her how sorry he was for the ten-thousandth time that morning. And explained and justified himself out of shame and guilt. That he was angry at the White Women still for having cast her out. That he went wild knowing that she would pick one of those creatures to love her whilst he was away. He begged her... begged her. If she ever grew restless or bored again and needed any sort of sexual release... That she calls him. In his grief, he even went so far as to say he preferred she make love to Ares, whom he loved and trusted completely, than some stranger off the streets or some woman from The White Tower.

"Never again amore mio... please... You will put me in my grave if you do it. I am still a young man my love, only 31 but I tell you, what we've been through together this past month has aged me easily at least twenty years. I feel so old inside. So ready to meet my maker. I shouldn't feel this way. You shouldn't feel this way. I don't want to be the cause of your suffering, Lalienna. From the moment I set eyes on you, I knew deep in my soul that you needed to be loved, nurtured, protected. Hector, Christov, Marcus, Curtis, Tony, Ares... all of them had scathing words for me and a thousand admonishments about how poorly I treated you. How you suffered and bled and cried. And I was wrong for shutting you out, shutting you down the way I did. I was suffering. I pray, think about it from my perspective: How would you have felt if you were thousands of kilometres away from home, working to make a life for me outside of England and then you find out, by accident, through a photo that your boyfriend was home fucking another woman in your bed? Would you not lose your mind in grief? Would you not fire and rage and want to kill her and me too where I stand? You would mi amore. You would, bella mia. You would and you would and there's no two-ways about it. I know you, Lalienna. I know your heart. Your mind. I know we've not been going steady long but I trust you. I would give my life to protect you if that's what it took. All your family now would. Without questions. Because we are family and...." He wanted to say it... to propose.

No... instead, he got out of the bed and cleared the distance to his dressing table where the black box that held the keys to Lalienna's new house and car in Vienna rested.

He came back and gave it to her. It was not a diamond engagement ring, but he got down on one knee all the same.

"This is what I was working on for you whilst I was away." He said at last... She didn't seem to be able to comprehend the magnitude of the gifts he was giving her. He insisted they were of no consequence, no value. What he was trying to give her...more than anything... was freedom. Freedom from suffering. Freedom from the Underworld. The Table. The servitude. The enslavement. But he would not free her heart. No matter what she said he stood firm on the idea that she belonged to him.

So he gave her the keys to the house and car in their velvet-lined box. And he showed her the papers, the photos on his phone. He told her about how the people in Vienna were friends that would love and protect her just in case she needed to get away and leave the life from the criminal underworld behind. She would never be free of the Table. Never be free of him. But she could start a life outside of London now. She could be independent and powerful and not need to depend on the White Women or Judeth ever again.

The moment he said Judeth's name she grew sad again. Her happiness diminished.

"Papi.... I can't leave my black swan behind.... My mother... She's the only one I've ever known that cared for me the way Rosalina never did. The way Marquis never did. You saw him. He didn't want me. He never wanted me.... I've never been wanted for anything..." She started to cry again. Tears and tears and tears and screams of anguish and he held her through it all. He weathered the storms of her grief and stayed firm as her anchor, choking back his own tears because he could not bear to see her suffering so raw... so exposed.

"Family amore mio. We can't choose them. They choose us. We can't escape them any more than we can try to push away the skies or burn the seas. But you can rest now darling, baby girl. You have me. And I will never leave you no matter how irrational and insane I get. Just... kiss me... tell me you want me... Slap me if you need to... shoot me with a pistol, cut me with a blade... I don't care what you do to me, Lalienna but I beg you, don't stop loving me. I don't think I can exist in this world without you."

He kissed her again. And it was magnificent. Erotic. Their shared suffering and joy, swinging emotions like a pendulum between them served as the most potent aphrodisiac to his frayed nerves. He wanted to make love to her. He begged her gently,

"Please...amore mio...I've been so lost without you. I need to feel you... I need to be inside you to know I'm real...I want this intimacy between us. More than flesh and blood. I want your heart... I need your soul to temper me. I admit it. I wronged you. And when you are strong again I will take to you to the finest laser clinician in all of Rome and I will have that horrible scar on your neck removed forever. Because we don't need reminders of our sins. We need to heal together. Heal me... Let me be inside you...." He was begging... the tears came and he could not stop them he was so raw and broken down.

He didn't know the truth. Of course not. Hector didn't say a word, Christov neither. He didn't know he had just lost a child.

But if he did.... he probably would have died with it.

Tears formed in her jade eyes, lip quivering slightly. She held back a sob, taking a breath.

“You…you never wanted me?” It felt as though her heart was breaking. Literally. The strings of her cardiac muscles were snapping, leaving her in the worst pain she’s ever felt… and she’s felt a lot of shit. She’s been through the worst, through hell. But this…this was worse. She couldn’t catch her breath. Her lungs wouldn’t produce the oxygen needed to stay alive. God, make it stop. Stop it! She couldn’t handle it. She clutched her heart, squeezing the fabric of her shirt in her fists. Her eyes broke. They relayed how she felt. So so so so ruined. So torn. So…worthless. Thrown away.

————

@f0rtis-fortuna-adiuvat // here is your angst. Do with it what you will. ;) have fun, my angel of sadness.

Are you watching, love?

G.L.U.T.T.O.N.Y

I was wrong.

I sinned against you.

I've always known I was beneath you.

Your dog.

You've always cut me, down to the bone.

And I've never been strong enough to fight you off.

Even if I told myself otherwise.

Stop it. Stop hurting me.

I've got no soul to sell.

I gave you the last piece.

It's killing me.

Losing you like this.

Help me get away from myself.

You bring me closer to God.

{Don't make me sleep alone.}

Oh, she was such a pretty girl! Darling Devina. That is what all the initiates called her. And when she announced that her willing suitor would propose to take her hand in marriage, the entire Tower was in an uproar of joy. The Queen was in good spirits. The engagement party alone would be extremely grand, held in the main hall. Because that was where all the engagement parties for the ladies were held. And on that night they would be permitted to sit at the right hand of the Queen. A place of high honour. Because a bride to be was still a bride and she earned her place at Athena’s side. She was showered with blessings, a dowery valued in the absolute hundreds of thousands. Dresses, jewels, cars, shoes and cosmetics. The ladies were wanting of nothing under Athena’s care. Cruel and cold as the old Queen was, she was not entirely heartless. She still mourned the passing of her own husband. Tuberculosis of the lungs took him. A dreadful disease. He suffered for years at her side until at last, he begged Athena’s final mercy. It was said she poisoned him in his sleep and lay with his cool body for a whole day and night before she would relent to have him interred. 

But Devina Dentent. Well, she was a special flower. Master Karth’s pride and joy. She had been Lalienna’s best friend. Karth knew this. And he was always sympathetic to her when she choked on her tears in the training yards and fought with the maids. Because she didn’t want Lalienna’s old bed touched, or remade, or moved. She missed her friend. Her sister in arms... Her one-time fleeting girlish lover. Now she was a married woman. She’d tasted her first man and she wasn’t disappointed. Perhaps, a little overwhelmed. Perhaps, a little underwhelmed. She wasn’t sure what to expect. But he was kind-hearted and gentle for a husband and he respected that Devina was a White Woman of the Tower of London. She had not been selected as an Elite Associate under the hands of the Thirteen Hand Maids to the Queen.  And she did request an audience with the Lady Judeth Clayton to ask if perhaps she might be worthy of a traineeship under her sponsor. Master Karth, however, declined the request before Judeth could speak. She was on twenty-four-hour continuous surveillance it seemed. And he would not let Lady Clayton out of his sight for as long as he could help it whilst in the palace. And whilst he worked, the Hand Maid was escorted by Black Guard in pairs. Always in pairs. They watched the White Woman eat, sleep, relieve herself and bathe. And if she attempted to request permission of the guards to let her approach and speak with Judeth directly, they immediately sent her away. 

“But I don’t understand!? Why won’t you at least let me talk to her? There is no harm in this, surely? I am no danger to you my faithful Black Guard. Please... Sir... Madam... Let me speak with Lady Judeth, you may stay on and listen to every word I say.”

“We’re sorry Miss. Devina. We have our orders. Mistress Clayton is under palace lockdown. She has no conversations with any of the initiates or lower White Women until Master Karth himself proclaims it agreeable.”

“But, this is ridiculous! I just want to be given the chance to speak with her. I want to train beneath her like Lalienna once did. How can I ask her formally if you won’t let me? Am I to petition the Queen directly for the honour?”

“No, Miss. Devina. You will petition no one. You will either return to your studies, attend your training or quit the Tower to attend your husband directly. But we will not permit you to address Lady Clayton. These are Master Karth’s orders. They are final. We speak for the Queen. You will desist your demands at once.”

“But... this watch you have her under... how long for?” Devina demanded, exasperated and getting nowhere fast.

“As long as it takes.” The Black Guard replied.

“Well then at least, I beg you tell me why it is you are so diligent in your duties of her. Is she ill? Has she committed a great offence that you will not trust her with a moment’s privacy alone?”

“Death Watch.” They answered. They saluted. They marched away, Taking Judeth Clayton with them.

Later that night, at dinner, Devina sought to attend the teacher’s quarters in hopes of petitioning Master Karth for more answers. He was surrounded by his friends and colleagues, discussing protocols, politics, combat sequences and modern warfare as was his custom with the rest of the respected educators that made up their academic staff.

“Master Karth! Master Karth, I beg you, a moment of your time if you please.”

“Always a moment if not many more for my precious initiates. Come Devina, you look worried. What’s happened, has your new husband caused you concern? Do you need me to refresh you on self-defence against grabby males?”

“No Sir, not at all. Only, it’s about Mistress Clayton.”

“Ah. Another topic perhaps Devina my darlin’ Mistress Clayton isn’t exactly in the best of categories across the palace right now.”

She would not relent. She blurted the question.

“What does it mean, that the Black Guard said Judeth Clayton of the Thirteen Hand Maids is on Death Watch, Master Karth! Answer me honestly now, I cannot sleep at night since Lalienna was banished, you will do this for me and let me rest.”

Karth grew pensive. The looks of his colleagues were piteous. Judeth was always the cause of great scandal in the palace.

“Death Watch means... “ He started reluctantly. “That... Mistress Clayton has gotten so ill of the heart and mind since our Lalienna was removed... that she’s now a danger to herself. And if we don’t monitor her 24 hours of the day and night... she may do herself irreversible harm.”

“Suicide?! Mistress Clayton?! Unthinkable! No! No! Please, anything but that. She is so gentle and kind spoken with us girls. She’s warmer than any of the other Hand Maids. You must help her Master Karth, you must have Doctor Tanis put her in his hospital wards. You cannot leave her to keep working under Her Majesty whilst she is so disturbed. Oh Master Karth, it is cruel! Cruel!

“I know it is, my darling. But Her Grace, Athena will not have her Hand Maids be idle whilst the French are plotting against us from Paris. You know this love, you know this. So please, I assure you Lady Clayton needs to keep busy and her work is the balm that soothes her restless mind. She is under continuous guard and will remain so until I see fit to release her from it. Now go on Devina, return to your friends downstairs. Give your husband my fondest regards and take extreme care of yourself. For me. In a fortnight you have an important mission to attend with the Lady Rosa and her Elite Associate, Franchesca. We need you in your best form. You understand. Now rest easy darlin’ girl. No more questions about our Judeth. She’ll be right, I promise you.”

‘If I can keep her off the morphine.’ He thought to himself. He disliked lying to the girls. It left a bad taste in his mouth. But he did what needed to be done to protect them. Most of them had suffered greatly even though they were so young. Fatherless bastards. Almost all of them. Give or take. Everything from begger girls off the streets, whores and reformed drug addicts to Duchesses and genuine royalty from across the globe. They were all sourced and poached and brought before Athena. And trained. As young as they could be gotten. They’d been weaponized and trained. To be killers. To be ruthless. To be espionage agents, saboteurs, ravagers. To be breeding machines. To birth girls...girls...girls.... More and more, in an endless cycle to swell the numbers. Because Athena was a Goddess. She demanded the sacrifice. Blood and Flesh for The High Table.

And they were servants. Always her loyal servants on bended knee. Fearful to look the old Queen in the eye.

So when at last she escaped the militant watch of The White Tower. She attended The Continental and escaped her husband's adoring embrace. She sought out the famous Iris Twins. Because aside from Sir Sable, it was said these identical French blonde ladies held the keys to the city. The keys to all of London. And they did not refuse her. They protected her passage with the sleight of hand technique of seasoned and impossibly well-trained magicians. They let her gain access to private rooms, unused by other guests. Hush, now, hush. Don't say a word. Our little secret. There she met her Lalienna again. And adored her anew. Kissed her, hugged her. She looked well. Loved, cared for. Her dresses were extremely expensive, her shoes... my goodness she had so many to choose from. Many were open-toed. She had been told that her Italian suitor, Mr Santino D'Antonio was a very particular and fussy man that had some exceptional sexual proclivities that involved the adoration of her feet. She did not deny him his pleasures for she enjoyed to see the Prince of Rome attend her on his knees to personally buckle the dainty strap of leather at her ankle.

That all sounded exceptionally erotic, she thought. And their old loves flared again. The excitement of young girls, barely 21 years of age. Living such exciting lives of intrigue and destruction. They made love the way the used to. Kissing and caressing and forcing each other to decadent orgasm just as they had in the bathhouse and sleeping quarters of the girls in the Tower. It was sinful and delicious. And entirely naughty and very troublesome if their males would find out. But Devina didn't care that deeply for her new husband just yet. Yes, he was handsome and rich and treated her kindly. But they were new together. And Devina hadn't quite learned what it meant to love a man intimately yet. Even if she had already accepted him inside her body. That was neither here nor there. She kissed Lalienna passionately and escaped their private rooms. The Iris Twins were fast and efficient. They had her returned to her husband's hands without him ever having missed her, to begin with.

They were clever twin ladies. But they did what their Master told them to do. Sir Sable was a man of dizzying power with sensual eyes and calculating glances.

Perhaps that was the way of the world, after all.

All good women were made in the shadows of powerful men.

Were they really though?

Death does not terrify me— the permanence of it does. One moment you're alive and full of everything the world offers you, and then for the rest of eternity, you're nothing. The permanence of death shatters me. To lay deep within the earth until the only one to remember your name is time itself. And we can promise to remember their name forever, but we too will one day become the void that they left behind in our hearts.

King George's Garden, Hyde Park, Sydney, Australia. Photographed 31st January 2021

©Small Fortunes

Short story for @small-fortunes' #weekly writer's prompt ! This was alot of fun to do and when I started I couldn't stop- I apologise if it goes off the rails slightly I haven't practiced in a while!

They stood there, facing each other down from across the room amidst a cacophony of noise.

Ed’s mind was crumbling. It was crumbling as he was desperately trying to pick up the fragments, to understand. The delicate and complex machinery of his brain had failed. He knew it would happen one day, one day he wouldn’t understand.

But that day had come earlier than he had expected. But that’s the irony of it; It had failed because he couldn't comprehend his current situation. It wasn’t predictable. His greatest ally had failed.

His mind had now blurred into one white slab as he shakily fell to his knees. He felt Oswald’s demeaning gaze piercing his head.

“I have a riddle for you, Ed.”

No! No more riddles Oswald please he pleaded silently, his ears ringing as an explosion crumbled the building next to them.

“A nightmare for some. For others, a saviour I come.”

Colourful lights flashed past Ed’s closed eyelids as Oswald began limping closer, clutching his cane.

“My hand’s cold and bleak. It’s the warm hearts they seek.”

Oswald hobbled closer as Ed knelt on the floor, hands protectively over his head. He savoured seeing Ed in such a weak, vulnerable position.

“What’s the answer, riddler?” He mocked, eyes pointed.

Ed didn’t answer. He was still trying to piece his mind back together. Whatever Oswald had done to it, whatever he had done, he would fix it. He would.

Oswald was getting impatient.

“Answer me!” he yelled threateningly, raising his cane and striking his face aggressively.

Ed flinched as blood trickled from his now bruised cheek. What had put them in this situation? How had it turned out like this? He tried to rewind his mind back, to find the missing information, but it was corrupted. The tape had burnt out and broke.

“I-I don’t know” Ed muttered, his voice cracking as he weakly looked up to Oswald. 

His brain felt like it had been pulled apart and that a toddler was attempting to fit it back together; like some cheap, colourful puzzle to challenge the child’s mental capacity. 

That’s all it was now.

Oswald smirked approvingly, crouching down so that his eyes were level with Ed’s.

“What was that?” 

He sneered, making an ‘i can’t hear you gesture’ with his hand.

Ed’s eyes dimmed as the last of his reputation was pulled from him. He feebly looked up at Oswald, his gaze focusing in an out at random.

“I don’t know!” 

He sobbed, his bones shaking as he fell into a heap.

Oswald laughed heartily. It was a horrible, maniacal laugh that made Ed’s eyes sink into their skull. Oswald suddenly took hold of Ed’s suit and shook it violently, making Ed look into his eyes. 

“Look at me” he spat

“Look at me and see how you have failed. How, because of me, your whole life has begun falling around you. Look at me and see fear. You have nothing, Edward Nygma. Not me, not Gotham, not even your own Mind.”

Ed sobbed harder. “What did you do…”

Oswald laughed again as Ed heard a click as he drew a pistol. He loaded it and pressed it into the side of Ed’s head.

“Look around you, Ed. Look out the windows. Look properly.”

Ed slowly turned his head to look. It was Gotham. In ruins.

“This is my fault, Ed. I did this! I bet you hate me now, don’t you?” Oswald shook him violently again.

Ed didn’t respond, he just stared solemnly at Oswald. There was a pause as Ed closed his eyes, wishing this wasn’t real.

Oswald smiled and rested his finger on the trigger of the gun.

“The answer was death, Edward. Ha! Couldn’t even answer his own riddle. So this is what I've reduced you to, Hm? Well, not to gloat but i think i’ve done a pretty good job myself” He smiled gleefully and gave himself a mental pat on the back.

“Look at you! Wow, the great Riddler, no longer safe in his own body! Your own Mind hates you!” He tilted his head to the side “Well, I might as well put you out of your misery. You’re ruining the mood” He frowned. 

“Oh, also, the answer was death!” He chuckled and pulled the trigger.

Ed’s pupils dilated as he realised what was happening. He welcomed it. His world was no more. He had nothing left.

He heard the click of the pistol and felt a sharp pain. He felt his conscious splattered against the floors and walls of Gotham. He felt his mind obliterated, and he felt the cold. The cold was the worst of it. The endless cold that never stopped. 

It crept over his whole being, inside and out. It grasped him and held him tightly.

It suffocated him, and his mouth constantly gasped for freedom. But it never came.

No. What?

That’s wrong. Is it?

How did this happen? You know.

What happened…? You know!

No, he wouldn’t do this. Would he?

This is wrong. It’s completely correct!

No. Yes! 

Ed’s mouth finally gasped the freedom and warmth that he had searched for, as he was plunged upright through the cold waters of death suddenly. His pupils were small and his gaze shook as his eyes adjusted to the sudden light. He coughed dryly and wheezed for air.

“Ed..?”

 He flinched as he heard that voice, and slowly turned his head to see Oswald looking at him, confused.

“What happened, you look like you’ve seen Fish Mooney’s ghost”

He chuckled lightly and reached over to hold Ed’s shoulder reassuringly. Ed flinched away from his touch, and raised his hands defensively. He took a sharp breath in as he realised he was covered in a cold sweat.

“N-no leave me alone, I know what you did! I saw you!”

He began muttering inaudibly, his eyes growing wide as he sat face to face with the person who had just killed him.

Oswald frowned and shook his head gently.

“Ed… I don’t know what happened, but it wasn’t real… it was just a nightmare”

Ed didn’t seem convinced.

Oswald slowly raised his hand and cupped Edward’s cheeks gently. Oswald’s touch was warm, and Ed melted into it, slowly warming up.

It was enough to reassure him, and suddenly he felt a heavy stone in his stomach. He hadn’t trusted Oswald, of all people!

“I’m sorry Oswald… I didn’t mean it, I don’t know what came over me…” 

He rested his head on Oswald’s shoulder as Oswald smiled and embraced him. It was just a dream. That was all. Oswald wouldn’t do that… He smiled as he realised the truth, and relaxed into Oswald’s touch.

“Hey, Ed?” He queried softly.

“Mmm?” Hummed Ed, closing his eyes.

“I have a riddle for you.”

The ending is left open for interpretation!