Carlos lay broken on the bed, the smell of charred flesh still clinging to him. His chest rose and fell in shallow, pained breaths, but his eyes—dim as they were—searched only for you.

The Queen stood at his side, silent, your crimson eyes glowing like embers. Your fingers hovered over his face, trembling, before curling into a fist. Nails pierced your palm, blood dripping slowly onto the sheets.

“My love…” Carlos rasped, his voice barely holding. “I know what stirs in you. That fire. That fury. Don’t—please don’t let it consume you. Don’t let my pain be the spark that dooms them all.”

But he knew it's futile. A tremor shook his weak frame, panic flashing in his eyes as he realized the truth: no plea, no vow of love could quell the storm already rising in your heart.