Author's Note: Written because I have yet to come across an AiW fanfiction where Iracebeth's actions are somewhat explained. So, I wrote something! Simple, huh? Hahaha. Well, enjoy!
They had never loved her.
It was a falsity that Iracebeth told herself every day diligently and held onto with extreme faith.
She believed they were disappointed from the start. Disappointed that when they had asked for a sweet, polite, mild tempered little girl, they had gotten a loud, rambunctious, whimsical daughter that was prone to daydreams and drastic mood swings. Disappointed that when they'd wished for a little girl to doll up and play mother-and-daughter games, they'd gotten a fiery headed whirlwind that loved to sling mud and hurl rocks, shouting and hooting as she waded in the then-clean muck of the moat.
And that when she'd finally begun to settle down in her teenage years, they were still disapproving. She was caught many times staring out the crystalline windows of the tower windows, schoolwork and lessons long forgotten.
She felt like they were always scrutinizing her behind her back, whispering about what to do with her. But she dealt with it.
Because she loved them, and desperately wanted them to love her back.
For years she tried. Tried to get advanced scores on her tests and schoolwork, only to get average ones; tried to be their perfect daughter, and ended up being their perfect disappointment.
Then Mirana came.
Things got worse. They switched between scolding her and praising Mirana; the perfect daughter. The pretty one. With her long white hair and pristine features, she made Iracebeth look like filth. She spent many nights locked in her room, pulling at her curly red hair, trying to get it straight like Mirana's, glaring at her head in the mirror, wishing it were like Mirana's; spending every waking moment wishing her face was like Mirana's, that she was Mirana, until all she thought about was Mirana, Mirana, Mirana, Mirana.
And how much she hated her.
Oh, how she grew to hate her. Mirana. She'd felt guilty at first. After all, how could she hate her own sister? But the more she saw her the more it felt right. She was the eldest. She should have been loved more, not Mirana.
So why wasn't she?
Because she wasn't pretty. Because she wasn't smart. Because she wasn't mild tempered or kind or funny. Because they don't love me. She held onto this thought, letting it fester unchecked inside, until the wound of her heart was infected and diseased with evil.
She planned their death for weeks. Maybe months. She didn't know. The time had passed in such an excitable fervor she'd hardly remembered to eat or sleep.
Until it was the day. Mirana had gone out, and they'd been in the study as usual, whispering to each other.
It had been quick. It was the last bit of pity she felt for them. When she had finished, she had been pleased with the amount of blood that had been spilt. She didn't even bother cleaning up. Then she'd taken the crown, still dripping, and nestled it proudly into her bloody curls. Smiling broadly, enjoying the feel of blood trickling down her cheek, she plopped onto the throne and began her rule.
Her first order?
The immediate exile of Mirana and the execution of her supporters.
And the great part? She didn't regret a thing.
And now, as she sat there, watching another execution, she smiled.
For people that didn't love her didn't deserve to exist.