Upon the grand land of Taranagara, majestic yet veiled in dark intrigue stood a palace, where Prabu Bramantara, a young and celebrated king, ruled with a curious heart.

One night, after a lavish royal banquet, the King issued a decree. He desired a woman—one who was beautiful, gentle, and unknown to the circles of the palace.

A servant spoke of a woman from the slopes of Mount Nyantra the daughter of a beloved puppeteer, wife to Ki Sabdawilaga, and heavy with child. But the king’s will could not be defied. In the silence of night, she was taken to the palace. Without a sound. Without a question.

Placed in the eastern wing, amidst a cold and glittering luxury, she rebelled at first. But eventually, she yielded to the power of a king. She was made a concubine, later granted the title Empress of the East. Among the people, she was whispered of as the tragic queen. Her gaze bore silent wounds too deep to name.

Months passed, and she gave birth to a son. Prabu Bramantara received the child with overwhelming affection, as if the boy were his own blood. But greed did not rest. He secretly ordered the murder of Ki Sabdawilaga, hoping to erase the shadows of his consort’s past.

The news came while the Empress held her newborn. She screamed in the courtyard, her cries shaking the palace walls.

“Why must Your Majesty take everything from me?!”

Prabu Bramantara could only stand frozen, watching the woman he had forced into love collapse into sorrow’s embrace. He whispered, “Everything I did... I did for you. I did not want the past to remain in your heart...”

From that day forward, the Empress fell ill. Her body weakened, her soul adrift. No healer could mend the inner wounds that consumed her slowly.

In his desperation, the King accused the other concubines of being the cause of her suffering. He ordered them locked away in a bamboo prison in the palace courtyard. No food. No water. One by one, they died in silence.

But spilled blood brought no peace. Late at night, he returned to the eastern wing. A baby cried beside his mother’s pale body. Prabu sat beside her, trembling with the fear of loss.

“Don’t worry, Dek Ayu... It’s all been handled. They’ve all been silenced. No one will ever hurt you again.”

The woman’s frail body trembled. She pushed his hand away softly, then looked at the king with eyes no one had ever seen before. They burned not with love, but with the embers of vengeance and overflowing pain.

“Stop this charade, my Lord!” Her voice rang out sharp and thunderous, breaking the stillness of night. “The one who brought me to this... was not them! Not your concubines. Not the failed healers. The one who broke me, shattered me, left me dying was you, my Lord!”

The king was stunned.

“I lost the husband I loved! I lost my dignity, my choices, my rights over my own body, my entire life! And all of that... was taken by you!”

Her shoulders trembled violently. Her tears fell with the fury of a long suppressed storm.

“And now you return... bringing empty sweetness, as if I’m a doll you think can be fixed after you’ve ruined it? Love? Is that what you dare call love?”

The king rose, chest heaving, eyes red. He replied in a trembling voice shaken not by fear, but by a pain he could not understand.

“It was out of love that I did this! Out of love... I wanted you by my side! I gave you everything! A palace! A name! I raised that child as if he were my own blood What more must I give... to be worthy of your love, Dek Ayu?!”

“What you lack?” she said with a bitter laugh, her voice like a blade cutting through the dark.

“What you lack... is respect! You never asked what I wanted. The love I carry... is not something that can be bought with gold, or power, or force! You never loved me. You only wanted to possess me. And that... is what destroyed everything.”