The Wreath

Camilla attacks Hati (Camilla's POV)

The wreath on my pillow sneers at me. 

It laughs at me. It laughs at my stupidity. At my naivety.

Of course he would find out that it was me who sent the letters. I made sure the tone was neutral, I made sure that it sounded like it was just a worried citizen who loved his country with all his bleeding little heart. 

But still, the wreath is there. 

Think logically, I snarl at myself. Brainless cunt, think logically. 

It can’t be him. He couldn’t have found out about me, I’ve made sure of that. He doesn’t know that I’m here. I’ve looked over my shoulder this whole time, I haven’t seen his spies lurk about like little rats they are. 

Tinsae, it must be her. 

She’s the only one who knows. 

I’ve never been able to trust anyone in this lifetime, why would she be the exception? She is the only one that makes the most logical sense. 

It must be her. 

I don’t even have to ask why she would do this. It must be money. Money and power, maybe even change in legislation, something to help the situation of the children she cares so much about. 

That makes the most sense, that is the only logical explanation. She needs more to help others, and I’m to be sacrificed at the altar of her altruism. 

And you. I’ve seen you with her, plotting, whispering. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. 

What is your excuse? A safe journey back to your shithole of a home? 

I blink, and the wreath is torn apart, lying on the ground. I stomp on the golden leaves. 

The real question is if you sons of whores actually told him, or if you just put the wreath here to make me go mad. 

I cackle at the thought.

If you called him, if you did that… A grin tugs at my lips. “He will kill you first. I’m to be left alive, to be tormented until he ends me himself. He won’t make the same mistake of letting me live again.” But you will be the first victims.

Oh, how you’ll wish you never did this. How you will scream like pigs to be slaughtered.

The high-pitched screams that will drill into my brain, never to leave me in peace. I will live with the nightmares when you are buried deep in the ground.

The wreath is left broken into hundreds of pieces as I start making my way out. I look at my hand. It trembles.

I squeeze my fist tight to stop it. Focus, you worthless piece of shit.

Later

I look at you and feel nothing. You talk about meaningless things, as if nothing’s changed. 

No, there is something. Stirring rage at the pit of my stomach. 

To think that you, out of all people, would try and sell me to him. You were supposed to be just a dull little piece of shit, lost and confused, easily used. 

Did you want me to feel vulnerable and afraid?

You failed.

I will end you. 

“Camilla what are you–”