She has been lying on the floor for hours; scolding, pleading and screaming, without making a single sound. She was moaning in silence, blackness all round her, which felt embracing and protective. Comforting darkness enveloped her mind, like her raven hair used to wrap her flawless, pale body. She had been standing in front of a broken mirror but as grief and sorrow took her over, she was sunken to the floor. She broke them all; the mirrors, the promises, the hearts. She disturbed their minds; she filled them with desire, lust and abysmal despair. Hope usually went away with her leaving place. Leaving them all behind, defenseless, bended, spoiled. She was never meant to cause them trouble, but she was obsessively aiming to fulfill her wishes. The end justified the means. She was longing for it, alike they were yearning to believe in something, to feel her deep inside, to hail the incarnate beauty of Air and Darkness. They were tools to meet her needs, no more, no less. She didn't care about the people calling her a whore, for there seemed to be some truth in it, as she appreciated them talking about her, for catering her memory for live on, making her stronger by being a rumor. It had been so pathetically easy, her world had seemed to be filled with power, strength and might. Their faith had been strong, the love towards their Queen passionately. But they turned away. They had turned away from the Old Ways and betrayed her. So she needed to make a great decision. She had to create a leader, who would bring this unfaithful vermin back to her, making her important and forceful again. He was meant to be her champion, her chosen one, her work. He wouldn't be human as the New Ways' poor Messiahs was told to be. He was going to be a wizard, the greatest of all time, demonstrating might and consistency. He would bring the people back to the Old Ways, converting them to trust in the only reliable belief.

Merlin...he was her one and only hope to save her world from dying. He was magnificent, he was brave and smart. But he also did turn away from her. He blamed her for trying to prevent the Old Ways from being forgotten, from ceasing to exist. He blamed her for being selfish and ignorant. But she wasn't. She knew she wasn't. Otherwise she had never allowed him to unfreeze her heart. He has been the only one she ever felt for- expect for herself. But she wasn't ignorant at all. After their break, she had tried so hard to make him get back to her and the Old Ways. He wouldn't be able to survive out there. It was too dangerous; he didn't know the pitfalls of this cruel and nasty world. So she had to save him, she had to protect him; she had to shelter and teach him. But he didn't like to be taught anymore, for he left her. Not only physical, but mentally. He, himself didn't believe in her anymore, she knew for certain. But she was his mother. She loved him. She wasn't the one to blame. No she wasn't...

She touched her trembling breast, soaking in the air hastily and uttering it again fitfully. It was just not her fault. It was his...and Arthur's, but Arthur was only a token in Merlin's game of her defeat. Oh how many times did she try to reach him; but he had become untouchable.

"After all I've done for you...", she whispered choking. There was no chance for him to hear it for she was all alone. She buried her long, slender fingers in the silky blanket and sighted. Pain was tearing her apart, conquering her mind, becoming increasingly unbearable. She liked to scream but there was no sound leaving her throat. Instead she got up stumbling to the open window, relying herself onto the windowsill for grief was threatening to break her down. She uttered another sorrowful sight before barely covering her eyes with the other hand.

"Merlin", she sobbed, "Merlin, how much I hate you." Her shady voice was wavering.

"It's your fault, Merlin, it's yours!" Her eyes, coloured in tangerine red, seemed to be sore as another tear was running down her cheek. "It is yours...", her voice broke.

She didn't even look up, steadily staring on the ledge. Even if it was late at night, there was no star, no moon to light up the gloomy sky. Clouds were passing by, covering every light source possible. She liked to call him, but she knew he won't be there. He won't be her warrior anymore. He liked to defeat her; he liked to destroy her existence. He hated her. He truly hated her; she could feel it in her skin, for there was still a strong connection between both of them. They were connected, deep inside they were bound and none of them was able to loose this connection, even if they desperately tried to tear this foreign force apart. But neither of them could ever succeed. They would never understand why. She didn't feel cold, for she was never freezing at all, as she never ate or slept. But she felt lost and very lonely. Her ruby blood seemed to stop flowing through her veins, she seemed to stop breathing, since her heart refused any additional beat.

"I loved you..." Most of all you need love; If you had that more. She started shaking again. Salty tears were running down her face, her hand desperately trying to cover her shame, since she tried to prevent the Queen of the Old Ways from being seen like that, catching somebody's eyes in this moment of weakness. Oh well, she was weak. She was even weaker than these poor human, for she would have had the ability to gulp back her tears. But she didn't even try. She honestly didn't care about anyone watching her now. She had hidden it all for so long...for too long. All the sorrow, all the disappointment seemed to bluster out in this revolting moment of vulnerability. She'd put her trust in him. All his skills, everything he was, his whole subsistence, it was all her gain. Because of her, who could have saved her power, her, who could have restored her strength to convince the people on her own but instead of she had shared her properties, she had shared them with him. Hadn't he always been glad to be something special? Glad to be a creature of magic? To be mighty, fancy, clever and strong? How disgracefully ingrate he was. Frik should have taught him some manners before preparing him for reaching the third state of magic, which he rejected to acquire. But it didn't matter anymore. He was gone, Merlin was gone. She lost him...forever. He was cheating on her. He betrayed her like most of her followers had betrayed her, so many years ago. And she couldn't do anything to save her existence from fading. She felt so weak and invalid. It would take another lifetime to restore her power. But she would not have that much time, for she didn't intention to make the same mistakes again. She once put her trust in someone who, she had been confident, would even die for her aims. But she had been mistaken. She had made the great fault of dedicating her heart to someone who was unworthy to possess it. Another lonely tear was making its way down her cheek.

"You were my one and only, Merlin", she breathed, "but you will never know."

He was hiding behind the great wooden bookshelf after him having entered the room a few minutes ago. Mab had been in there for hours, so Frik had become seriously sorrowful, for she had never locked herself in the palace's bedroom before. He was huddling in front of a precious, antique candle stand listening to her heartbreaking moans, noticing her trembling silhouette. He was for sure that no one ever saw the Queen of the Old Ways weep before and no one would ever do again. What was he going to do? She would push him away, she would slap and punish him for daring to touch her, she would try to hide her distress behind bare aggression. How could he venture trying to comfort her? He was her servant and she was his Queen. He wasn't even allowed to be here, since she told him to take care of the visual-crystals in the hall of prophecy. She told him to clean up the library to sort the hundreds and hundreds of dusty, old books. And he did as he was told, until her return from a long, exhausting journey to the Mountain King. She had been furious, she had been upset, very, very upset but he never got to know what happened in the highs. Most likely it got something to do with Merlin; it always had when she was on her most unmerciful. But he wouldn't ever dare to ask. He would remain here, lingering on, waiting for her to calm down, so she wasn't all alone. Even if she would not notice him being in the room, his present hopefully was going to appease her, to save her from the engaging sensation of loneliness and desperation. Yes, he would be there, waiting for her to rest.

I loved you. Her whisper was breaking the nightly silence. Immediately he was feeling lonely as well.

She wasn't even capable of love. She never loved anyone. How could she ever say something like that? He pressed his back against the wall. How could she ever love someone like Merlin; but what about him, Frik? He, who had always been loyal and devout to her? If anything she punched and slapped, she bruised and abused him. He, who stuck with her, who suffered her angry outbursts and emotional overreactions? Was this fair? He didn't think so. Instead he continued to observe her silently, observing brilliant tears running down her cheeks, watching her shaking hands clutching at the sill. But who was he to comfort her? Who was he to near her? Who was he to feel sorry for his Queen?