Inside the Mind:
Jezebel stood, her fingers gripped tightly to her arm. The glass case shone brightly, refracting the dull lights of the spoils room. Her breathing evened out as her mind only churned thoughts into illusions. Pretty blue eyes reflected into the glass case, only sharing an image of a woman holding a bloodied dagger. It mocked her, waving the black obsidian blade to entice animalistic desires. Desires only the mind could perceive once far gone. Jezebel’s breath came hot and heavy, clouding the glass and therefore the image. At least it should have, but the reflection is opaque like wood. Strange wonders of the world only appeared to those stuck in their mind.
The woman held the dagger out to Jezebel, offering it to the young princess. A wide smile crossed her face, waiting for Jezebel to reach for the leather-wrapped hilt. Her body twitched. Her mind could not process the reality of this dagger. Was it false or true? Did this appear forth from hatred or love? Jezebel peered down at her hands, blood pooling around her palms and spilling off the side. With each drip on the tile, her breath quickened. The surrounding room crumbled, bricks falling away to reveal a void, leaving the case with the woman strutting along the glass. She could restore greatness, and give the people what they wanted. She wanted to call him king, to embrace her father with endless love — but why does Jezebel think instead of him, it should be her?
Jezebel hated how everyone swooned over her father, believing him to be the great sovereign of Hell. There was nothing special about him, nothing she couldn’t do. She had a destiny. It was more than the princess who lay in wait. Tears streaked down her cheeks, dropping onto her hands, sizzling away. The room echoed screams of victory, screams of pain. Both were a mix of what could occur if she took the plunge. Jezebel’s tears clouded her vision, her breathing deep and calculated. She turned, watching the woman with the dagger. Watching Jezebel with the dagger. The need, the want of such an object gorged in blood. She didn't want what he had, she wanted to be him. She reached out, attempting to take the knife from her reflection. Blood spilled upon her hands as she got closer. The handle seemed inclined, almost leaning toward her hand for her to take.
Jezebel was close, almost taking the dagger before a gruff voice broke through her consciousness. It was familiar, almost pungent in a way. She blinked her eyes, the spoils' room intact. Her hands were on the case protecting a ruby knife. A figure stood behind her, its condescending body towering over her. Lowering the case, Jezebel drew her hands away, staring far off into the wall.
“Jezebel?” Her father questioned, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. He seemed worried, but she wouldn’t let him encase her in his web of lies. Turning around, she smiled, zing up her father. His back hair was always strewn everywhere, covering the circlet her worse upon his head. His expression was one of confusion. Jezebel would have to complete her plan on another date. It was too late.
Jezebel regarded her father’s question. “I’m alright, Father, really.” Her eyes were glazed over, staring into space rather than at her father. He simply nodded his head, leading Jezebel out of the room. She followed begrudgingly, closing her eyes. It was ruined. For now.