Darkness and smoke filled the room as Erzsebet lay on the bed, a pipe in her hand. How sweet the smoke tasted that it left her mind relaxed enough to sleep. She had been due to meet with Angelique in Krofburg soon, but the poppy had chased away all sense of time. What Erzsebet had thought was one night, had in fact, been much longer. But that was why she chose the windowless room in the inn.
The Gundarakite woman let herself drift away in the smoke of the opium pipe. Faces formed in the smokey haze, Rodica, Teodor, Stefan, Elias, Andras, Adira, Serghei, Syras, and many whose names she had forgotten.
"You're the ocean, Betty."
Destructive, captivating, swallowing all in its way in time. Death and decay, a thriving element that turns stones to dust and flesh to bone. A thing thought to bring life, but it is a trap, a trap that engulfs and destroys. One minute the ocean may be calm and friendly, but deep down in those waters lurks a rip tide that will drown even the strongest swimmer. Wild and impossible to tame. Ever-rising and ebbing. Eternal.
Biting the finger of her gloved hand, she pulled the glove off, trailing her hand through the coiling smoke. She set the pipe down on the side table and searched her pockets for some matches and another packet of opium. Imre was right, she would very likely overdose before she knew it, but that was why she carried antidotes with her. She knew her limits, and when to stop.
As she found what she searched for, Erzsebet packed the pipe with fresh opium, struck a match and lit the pipe. She could feel something stirring in her stomach. A feeling, waiting to erupt with power. Smoke rings curled up in the air from her lips.
"Hated Mother, Nerull, Mama... What the hell do I do now?" She pondered aloud to herself as if expecting the smoke to give her some answer.
Peace. A non-violent end to the violent oppression of her people. It was a stupid, naive idea. As foolish as the rebels seeking to regain a land that never once existed. She would have to spill blood, her hands were already dirty. Ideas flashed through her opium hazed mind. She could spread this sickness of cholera. Provide medicine to her kin for free, and charge the Barovians absurd amounts of gold.
'Turn the Barovians into sickly swine, dearest one. Make them weak with illness, decrease their numbers and rise up.'
'Gundarakites can rise up and take lead, but they need a leader. Someone as devout as the Mothers' King in Yellow.'
'Rise up from the blood dearest one. Smother their numbers with sickness. Death will be your ally.'
'Power and eternal life will be yours one day if you serve us well Dearest Erzsebet.'
'You will reign eternal in this grey city, my Charnal Queen.'
'Rise Erzsebet, remove your shackles and fears.'
'Become our Crimson Queen.'
Had those voices been a dream? She shook her head not knowing whether it was real or not. Now she set the pipe down and moved to the corner of the room. She crouched before the wash basin and splashed the cold water on her face and turned to stare at herself in the mirror. She did not recognize the woman who stared back at her. She looked foreign, broken and pitiful. Where was the fire in her eyes? The passion? Erzsebet placed a hand on her reflection.
"No. No. No! I am not weak! I am not this! This is not me!" She screamed at the mirror. Her hands hit the cold glass of the mirror as she sunk to the ground resting her forehead on the glass. Tears streamed down her cheeks. "If I spread this, children will die." She admitted amidst her tearful sobs. "DAMN THEM ALL! EVERY LAST ONE!"