I’m tormented by dreams. Not dreams you’d find yourself lost in on a cloudless night by your home in the meadow, but dreams of what seems to be another life entirely. One that I lived, surely, but I cannot attest to this with any modicum of certainty.

  I am drenched in the warm light of a vibrant sun. I stand in the courtyard of a gargantuan castle made of hand chiseled stone. This place, this magnificent show of artistry, is ancient. Moss has found its home upon crumbling walls. The mortar between the uneven stones grows weak from hard days exposed to the elements.

  Her majesty, the first queen of this land, sits upon her throne draped in an ornate white dress emboldened by golden accent thread. The red embroidered stole gently waving in the wind as the jewels around her neck glisten all manner of colors in the sun's rays.

  I notice my armor; the weatheredness of it. The plating, accosted by mud and grime. It weighs heavy on my shoulders, but the weight of my armor pales to that of my guilt. The memory of my crimes eludes me. The queen, appearing oblivious of this feeling, stares gratefully down at me from her perch in the heavens. Her angelic gaze only serves to deepen the blackness that consumes me.

  The visor of my houndskull is lowered and clasped in place, I am invisible within my armor as my skin absorbs the sweltering heat of the sun. But for my eyes, my helmet conceals my face. As I come forth from my thoughts, I lift my head toward the queen. As my eyes drink her beauty greedily I witness, much to my horror, her face transform from elegant and beautiful into a look I can only describe as utter heartbreak and despair. I have wronged her. My eyes have betrayed the identity I knew not that I hid from her. These very eyes, the same ones she came to love all those years ago. A tear makes a sorrowful pilgrimage down the curve of my cheek. I avert my eyes from her own. I am in no good state to be perceived by this woman. My surcoat is disheveled. A checkered pattern of dim green and yellow, splotches of blood strewn about it. Her cleanliness puts me to shame. The filth of my past resides upon my withering form, even now.

  I extend my arm and glance at my hand. The leather of my gloves is weathered and worn. The plate and mail of my gauntlets are rusted and stained the color of a deep sunset. I am not the man she thought me to be. Not any longer. I’ve become something unrecognizable. Something much worse than I could’ve ever imagined. I gaze back up at the queen from the bottom of the long stairway. I know this woman well. Not just in the dream but in my own reality. Her hair, the color matching my rusted armor, reflects the sunbeams with such grace and elegance. Her peridot tinted eyes shine a vibrant green as fresh tears flow down her face. As much as it pains me to utter the words, they only add to her beauty. This is just the way I remember her.

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  This isn’t the first time I’ve committed transgressions against this woman. I have seen these tears before. My heart seizes as memories begin flooding into my mind's eye. Long before the queen held her title, our parents arranged our betrothal. Though she loved me with every ounce of her heart, my lust for freedom and sovereignty prevented me from reciprocating the love she bestowed. As a young man, my life had been fraught with adventure and love had been the farthest from my thoughts. As I kneel before her now, the weight of regret staying my feet, I am reminded of my place in this tale. It has never been mine to tell, it has always been hers.

  I am torn from my mental inquisition when I hear heavy footsteps behind me. I stand as an armored hand rests itself on my shoulder plate, firm and familiar. I turn to my left and see another that I know quite well. My brother, clad in armor similar to mine, draped by the very same surcoat as me, though his is remarkably clean. The colors adorning it are those of my coat of arms, my family. I stare at him blankly and he nods, determined to finish what we started so long ago. This odyssey to avenge myself. The apparition I rid myself of many an age ago.

  “Brother.. I do not have the strength for this.” I say, choking back a sob.

  His visor is closed but I can sense the smile behind it.

  “You knew not the true scale of the task when we first began our journey but you’ve grown.” He pauses for a moment and looks up at the queen, his tone growing serious. “You’ve become the man you need to be. You must strike her down. This is the only way.”

  I relinquish my gaze from him and return it to the queen. She has fallen from the throne down to her knees. Her face buried in her hands as she kneels, bent in sobs. She weeps tears of absolute and certain agony. Each sob, each agonizing tear, severing my heart from my chest, rending my very soul from me.

  I begin my march. My steps are relentlessly slow. My armor is heavy. I cannot bear this burden. How have I come to this? What curse have I cast upon myself?

  “Why me?” I wonder aloud. Tears stream forth from my eyes as I move.

  Every step is an agonizing reminder of the task that has befallen me. I fall to a knee when I reach her. Steel clanking against the stone beneath me. I remove my helmet and put my forehead to hers and she places a hand on my cheek. Just then, I hear the deafening sound of trumpets from the heavens. I pull away and lay my eyes upon her, perhaps, for the last time.

  Her bloodshot eyes well with tears once more as she stares into my very soul. “You were supposed to save me.”