(Warning: minor swear ;)

"So." Rosalie's voice echoed like thunder from throne to wall and back again, beating persistently against her ears. "Once more you disrupt the peace with bloodlust and dissent. By rights I should kill you, Ronan."

"I'd expect that of you," he snarled back, spitting derisively. Rosalie ignored the blood—ignored the nightmares it threatened to drag back—and forced her mind back to the present.

"What else can I do?" she demanded frustratedly. "You continue to attack my home, insist on evoking fear in the hearts of my people, and your rebels will  not stop spreading death and destruction! What else do you seriously expect?"

Furious, Rosalie sprang to her feet, forestalling his response with a trembling, accusatory finger.

"I spared your life once, Ronan. Do not repay me with deaths. My patience, and that of my people, is running out."

Undaunted, the prisoner straightened. "I'd rather die than submit to you," he declared calmly, and it hit like a punch to the gut.

With short, trembling breaths she sank back down.

"What—" It came out a strangled gasp. The room swirled and she clenched her teeth, forcing the hot ocean of tears back. "But why?"

"Because good always wins in the end."

Rosie's thoughts were a thrashing serpent beating against the walls of her mind—of course, what does he mean—that's why I won—does he finally understand?  For the briefest of moments, her heart sang for joy, then abruptly plummeted down to the very toes of her boots.

Staring into his cold, implacable eyes, she at last understood.

"Leave us," she snapped to the assembled guards—so easily forgotten—and the armoured men dutifully filed out.

An awful, endless silence infused the air with poison. Rosalie's throat throbbed, and she resolutely swallowed the pain away before speaking.

"Ronan, please," she began at last, and his face twitched with undisguised hatred. The swollen ache increased tenfold as she struggled to continue.

"Do—you really think so little of me?" she choked out finally.

"You are not worth the dirt on my boots."

She'd expected it, really, but lurched back as if she'd been struck. "Ronan," she begged. "Ronan, please, remember—"

"Don't."

"—our brother."

"You think I don't?" he growled furiously. "You think I could ever forget? No, but I forgave, Rosie." Ronan shook his fettered fists, chains clanging like a death-toll. "Hatred has distorted you—I don't recognise you anymore." His face twisted with grief.

"You—forgave?" Rosalie's quiet words shattered the silence like glass. Pain and shock. Pain and shock. Ronan, her only brother left, was slipping away just as surely as the first. "Then how am I worth less than the dung on your heels?" Her eyes shone star-bright with tears.

"Denny didn't have to die, Ronan," she continued bitterly, heart lurching at the sound of that once-familiar name. "We did all we could, we begged for help—don't you remember?"  A harsh sob bubbled from her throat. "They were rich, and they ignored—everything."

Rosalie sucked in a long, shuddering breath to steady herself. "They were not worthy of their positions, and I replaced them."

Lips trembling, head bowed with the weight of his grief, Ronan answered softly, "You never—understood—Rosie. It was me."

Her breath caught.

"It was me, I should have tried harder—I could have found more work. I didn't need to eat. Denny did, but I took it anyway. And you—" A harsh, wrenching sob tore from Ronan's chest, and he buried his face in his hands.

Rosalie groaned softly; tears filled her palm like liquid silver.

Was this her brother?

What had she done?

Except... it wasn't her, was it? Again and again, in a never-ending wheel of pain and darkness, her grief lead straight to the former king and queen. It wasn't Ronan's  fault—those bastards. Face hardening, she rose to her feet and leapt down the steps of her throne.

"Guards!"

Gently, she raised Ronan's chin, hollow eyes mirroring his own. "Don't worry, brother; it'll be alright," she reassured him, trying to smile. "I'll do things right. No more children starving to death—and no more war." Her voice hardened suddenly, and dread flashed across his face.

"You're not in your right mind," Rosalie continued eagerly, "but I can help! I'll extinguish this rebellion of yours and we'll be together again, just like old times—I'm queen, I can make it work!"

"Rosalie, no—you can't—"

"I can." She turned her back, irritated. "Guards, lock him in the Eastern Tower. Execute his companions."

"Rosalie—Rosie—Rosalie, no—please, no—no! Rosalie! Rosalie, please, DON'T—"

His cries cut off abruptly as the doors boomed shut. Rosalie swallowed, hard. Grief had driven him mad, but the screams...

Shaking her head firmly, she ascended the stairs to her throne and sat with an air of finality. She was queen, and she must be strong.

Let the Era of Purification begin.