Chapter 17: Red Silk, Red Flags

Camela opened her mouth to scream, but all she could hear was the girl's voice, who had vanished. She sank to her knees, her head pounding.

Camela shook with disbelief. She reached for her neck, but the voice had disappeared, and her voice returned, raw and shaking. She panicked and pressed another hand to her neck.

She heard footsteps approaching, and a door creaked open behind the cage. A long table covered in red silk with crimson plates was set before her. The air was thick with the faint, metallic scent of blood.

Masked figures dressed in red silk robes emerged from behind the table; their masks were bright red, with no expression. The silk they wore was stained— some with symbols, others with red drops that looked like dried blood.

Vincent, poised and regal, stood at the center. He leaned in close to Camela.

“Red flags,” he whispered. “They gave warnings but you ignored them.”

The masked figures moved forward silently. Then took a bow before Camela.

Trembling, Camela asked, "What is this?"

With a smile, Vincent announced, "Your coronation. Welcome. Red flags for a red bride.”

The masked figures spread the silk across the floor, weaving between their legs and it curled around Camela’s bare feet, feeling warm and alive.

Vincent's voice sliced through the silence. “Red silk binds the queen.”

The masked figures surrounded her. One of them removed their mask—a woman with skin so pale—unwrapped the silk from Camela's shoulders, wrapping it around her wrists instead. The silk tightened, and each knot etched patterns into her skin.

Camela cried out. “Stop!”

Vincent's expression remained unchanged as he watched.

“You wore it willingly,” he whispered. “Now wear it with truth.”

Camela struggled against the silk bindings, tried to rip them off. The silk rippled but did not come loose. Rather, it tightened more cutting into her skin.

The masked figures continued to wrap her arms and legs in red threads—thread by thread. Every twist felt like a chain. She felt trapped as if she was disappearing into the red.

“I want it off,” Camela screamed.

The masked figure placed a hand over her tied hands. “It stays until you confess.”

Another masked figure's voice echoed. “That ring marks you. The silk marks them.”

A sudden silence swept over the room.

Then, the masked figures stepped back, and the silk turned crimson to grey. Camela was still tied up.

Vincent stepped forward, removing his coat to offer a purple-red silk veil.

“I thought your father’s blood would save you,” he said. "But now, red indicates a warning.”

Camela just stared.“What about him? My father?”

He gestured. “He sent him through that mirror.” A faint glow radiated from a crack in the glass on the wall.

“He attempted to take you away, locked in a fire you couldn’t see,” he continued.

Camela yanked at the silk rope around her hands.

"You twisted everything,” she hissed.

"Only the truth hurts," Vincent replied, pointing to a silk banner soaked in her mother's blood with Camela's handprint beneath the crown and fox symbols.

Her voice cracked. "I didn't bleed for your kingdom!”

Vincent dabbed his finger on the flag's blood. "But you did, bride. Your blood keeps the veil from tearing."

Camela examined his finger, but the blood did not smudge. It gave off a glow.

Vincent stood, bowed solemnly, and spoke gently. "Camela Castellano, will you accept the red silk crown? Will you take the lead?"

Silence.

She closed her eyes, feeling a building heat at her wrists.

“I refuse,” she declared.

Vincent nodded slowly. "Then, the red will fall.”

The masked figures flapped their flags, creating a red canopy above her. She opened her eyes to find threads of silk scratching her skin—light but relentless.

"You cannot refuse," Vincent stated quietly. "Red silk does not loosen; red flags do not fall until crowned."

Camela felt dizzy under the red canopy. She watched as the silk walls bled. Each panel featured silhouettes of a bride crying, bound, and swallowed by silk.

One of the silhouettes featured her mother's face. The mother knelt and begged. Camela felt tears run down her cheeks.

"No more lies," she whispered

Flags rustled together.

Vincent moved closer. "You're still wearing her blood. You still bear her name.”

"She warned me,” Camela countered.

Vincent's eyes gleamed. "Of course. She was the first queen to challenge the silk."

The silk flags shifted, revealing eyes watching and waiting.

Camela stood tall, yanking at the silk that bound her hands. It stretched, and the knots loosened only slightly.

At that moment, she whispered into the sea of red, “I will not submit.”

Vincent leaned in closer. "Prove it."

He tapped the red silk that bound her wrists, tightening it under his touch.

His expression darkened. He raised a silver dagger from his belt, thin and elegant. Challenging her, he handed her the silver dagger.

"Cut your bonds. Prove yourself worthy of the throne."

Camela hesitated. She looked at the dagger, then at the silk, and finally grabbed the dagger.

With trembling hands, Camela cut off the silk from her wrists, watching it fall to the floor in ribbons. She did it again for her waistline, the silk fell like petals. She took a step back, trembling but free.

Vincent's eyes widened. He reached for her but she took a step back and stumbled into more silk.

This time, it was still tightly wrapped around her ankles, bright red. Camela pulled her ankles free, leaving a trail of silk behind.

"Let me go," she demanded.

He smiled, but it wasn't pleasant. "Camela, you cannot leave a crown behind."

She pulled the dagger closer, pointing its sharp edge at Vincent. He disarmed her, causing a painful cut on her hand.

“You still bleed?” He asked.

Vincent pressed his hand against her wound, and blood poured out. Despite the excruciating pain, he did not move away, sliding the dagger back into her palm.

"Wear it as your symbol. The red you refuse to accept," he said.

Camela breathed. Then, she bent to pick up ribbon pieces from the floor and tie them to the wound on her wrist. Blood soaked into the silk. Pain spread through her, but she stood firm and did not flinch. Each ribbon she tied formed a knot.

“I refuse to be your queen,” she said softly.

Vincent spoke from behind her: "Then you will be the Queen of Ashes."

She turned around. The masked figures had vanished, leaving Vincent alone in the red chamber. He took a step closer and placed a new silk ribbon in her hand, dark and stained—like a warning.

Camela closed her eyes as tears and sweat streamed down her face. She whispered, "I will break free."

She took a step forward. Vincent backed away with an alarming expression on his face.

A softly fluttering red silk veil hovered towards her. Camela grabbed it without thinking and wrapped it around her neck.

Vincent raised his hands. "You won this moment."

Camela shook the silk boldly. "Now, go."

He moved closer again. “One last test.”

Suddenly, mirrors cracked behind her, creating intricate patterns resembling spiderwebs. Reflections flashed—her as a child, mother, and a bride.

Camela turned to face them frozen, and then looked back at Vincent.

Vincent pulled out a small red silk pouch from his coat. It had Camela's name embroidered in red thread. He pushed it into her hand.

“Open it,” he urged.

Camela hesitated, while she locked eyes with him.

It “If I open it… what then?” She asked.

Vincent smiled. “Then you’ll either become queen… or watch your world burn.”

Her hands shaking, she pulled the cord and clicked it open. The pouch spilled open.

Inside was a white rose, fresh and beautiful with a red stem, along with stone fragments and a piece of the black ring fell out from the pouch.

Suddenly flames erupted around the room. Masked figures dressed in red silk reappeared, forming a circle around them.

"Well?" Vincent asked into the silence.

Camela clutched the rose tightly. As she raised her head, her fiery eyes scanned each masked watcher.

The rose in Camela’s hand wilted, its petals turned to ash. A sharp voice cut through the firelight:

“If you carry the rose… You cannot leave tonight.”

Camela looked up in horror as a red flag, embellished with her mother’s face, unfolded behind Vincent.

“It’s time to bleed again… or die.”