I watched as my Queen sat down heavily upon the throne. She looked for all the world lost and broken, a mere girl crushed and betrayed. Yet beneath my very gaze, a transformation began to take place. As she again become aware of herself and her surrounds, she pulled herself up, erect upon the gilded throne. She still looked a mere child, but now a child Queen.
"So they want a ruthless and virginal queen, do they, Titus." It was not a question. The deep sadness in her voice broke my heart. "Then that is what they shall have." She signaled for her lady-in-waiting to bring her makeup. I gazed on despairingly as she applied her makeup with her own hand, skillfully and artistically. When she had finished she looked like a porcelain figure, too perfect to possibly be real. As she gazed at her reflection in the mirror, I saw her luminous green eyes glaze over and fill with tears. She clearly did not recognize herself in the inhuman features that stared out of the looking glass. As for myself, the only thing that I could recognize her by were her eyes, they still shone brightly with intelligence and sincerity. Had I then any notion of the further change that would overcome her in the following hour, I would never have let my eyes leave hers. Returning my gaze reflected in the mirror, she looked piercingly into my eyes as three tears slowly broke the damn of her eyelids and rolled forlornly down her ashen cheeks.
"Three tears." It was no more than a guttural whisper and yet those two words held within them a world of meaning. "Three tears," she repeated, "is all I shall ever shed for him." I did not doubt her words. "I shall do what neither Queen Kleopatra with Antony nor Alexander the Great with Hephaistion could. I will watch the man whom I love most in this world die, and by my own decree, no less. Yet I shall neither pine nor mourn. I will live and not merely for a week or even a handful of years. I shall not wallow in sorrow nor seek to numb my grief with drink and debauchery. No, I will live until I am old and grey and time takes me. Quinn will not be my downfall." In all of her twenty-one years I had never heard such hardness in her voice. Yet what disturbed me most about her declaration was not the impassive resolve with which she spoke of her lover's death; it was the detachment in her voice and in her words when she spoke of Alexander and Kleopatra. I had never known her to be anything but adoring and emulative towards these two bygone rulers. Now, however, she condescended to them. She spat out the names of her heroes and her beloved as if they were a poison.
By now she had rearranged herself upon the throne, her hands clasped together in her lap, her back straight and her eyes fixed forward. The mirror had been removed from in front of her, and with the mirror so too had the girl Queen fled, a true Queen now sat before me, regal and aloof. Nothing now stood between her and the heavy doors that would open to reveal the executioner's stage below. She gave the doorman a small nod and as he moved to toward the doors I watched my Queen for any sign or indication of weakness. Her breathing, however, remained steady and her face set. As the first slice of sunlight bit into the harsh darkness of the chamber and fell upon the throne, what I saw took my breath away. My Queen's eyes those sparkling orbs of emerald that could melt a man of stone with a single glance; those brilliant jewels which glowed with that rare light of innocence, love, and goodness; those eyes that had always exuded such life even in the darkest of times and under the cruelest of conditions; had gone utterly dark. All warmth and kindness had fled; her eyes became hard and cold, utterly devoid of emotion. It was my turn now to weep and I most certainly would have had the look in her eyes not warned me, upon my life, against such distasteful indulgence.
As the heavy doors were opened wide a cacophony of sound accosted my senses. I was obliged to tear my gaze from my mistress. I looked down, with no small measure of disgust, upon the throng of filthy revelers who had come to indulge their bloodlust. To the right of the stage the prisoners were being led up in single file, weighted heavily with rusted chains. The first six traitors were dirty and ragged, they all moaned pathetically, crying out for mercy, dejected and defeated, they shuffled up the steps to the stage with their heads hung. The mob threw rotten fruit, vegetables and even feces at the doomed faction. The seventh and final prisoner, however, though still caked with filth, carried himself in a manner entirely apart from his fellow condemned. He walked with a straight back, head held high, though without any semblance of smugness or defiance. He was a man who would die as he had lived, with honor and dignity. No man, woman, or child in the crowd dared throw a thing at this man, lest the rest of the mob fall upon the offender and tear him limb from bloody limb. As the last prisoner climbed the stair and ascended the stage a hush fell over the crowd and the looks of hungry outrage with which the people had met the previous prisoners were erased. It was not, however, pity that replaced the hate, it was admiration for the man coupled with fanatical resolve that justice need be done for the crime.
The prisoners were assembled upon the stage in a single row, their back to the multitudes, their faces turned toward the Queen. As the eyes of the first six convicts found those of the Queen, any plea for mercy or vain curse which they had been prepared to offer died swiftly upon their lips. I held my breath as the gaze of the Queen met that of her condemned lover. I waited for her steely resolve to break. Yet her breath did not catch, her gaze remained cold and pitiless, no flicker of recognition or regret, it was a look more horrifying than hatred, for even hatred imbues the features with life. It was a stare of utter indifference and detachment, void of any and all human sentiment. Contrasting the Queen's impassiveness, however, the seventh man's eyes were alive with emotion and as their eyes met his implication was unmistakable. He was, without a word, appealing to her love and the goodness that he knew were the very foundation of the young queen's character. He, however, was wretchedly unaware of the cruel transformation that his betrayal had wrought upon his lover's heart. He looked into her soul expecting to see the love that had, for the past eight years, lit their world. Such obvious expectation on his part made it all the more heart rendering to watch as the devastating comprehension flooded his face. He clearly no longer recognized his beloved in the porcelain creature that sat on the throne before him. In that terrible moment he knew that his fate was sealed, there would be no reprieve.
One by one the men fell to the executioner's great axe. As Quinn's
lifeless body was carried away, the Queen rose, unhesitant, from her throne and swept from the room. I remained behind, unable to move for fear that my legs would not support the movement. I stayed staring at the gold and crimson throne for what seemed like many lifetimes of men. I was desperately afraid to look away from the gilded chair, for it was, and would ever be, the last place that I would see my Queen. As the great doors began to close, chasing the sunlight from the room, I realized that though she had seated herself upon the throne that morning as a young and innocent girl playing at Queen, filled with love and dreams; she had risen a distant and untouchable Goddess.