Chapter 19: Refusal

Camela's mother gradually removed her mask, revealing eyes that seemed dark and empty.

“Mama?…” Camela called, her voice trembling.

Her mother’s lips formed a sad smile.

“You have been found guilty,” her mother stated.

The hall fell silent.

Camela's vision was clouded by tears, and her hands trembled as she confronted the masked tribunal.

One of the judges, a masked woman dressed in black velvet, rose slowly. "Lady Camela. You're accused."

Camela gulped hard. "Accused? Of what?"

Her mother turned slowly and replied. “Of refusing.”

Camela felt her breath caught in her throat. "Refusing what?"

Her mother responded, "Refusing to obey. Refusing to wear the crown properly."

Camela shook her head. "I have never..."

The tribunal whispered to itself. The judge continued:

"You carried the rose. You wore the ring. The red silk marked you."

Another masked figure appeared—a man wearing a gold mask shaped like a pointed fox.

"Lady, the rose stem you held was half-broken. That's a refusal.”

Camela's voice quivered. "The rose snapped. I didn't refuse."

"I didn't mean to refuse, but I did," she rephrased.

The fox-masked judge tapped his mask. The room grew colder.

"Why did you refuse? Why is your blood on the verge of every decision?" he questioned.

Her thoughts raced.

Camela is accused of refusing to wear the crown and follow the path laid out for her, rather than committing a crime. The rose she was carrying was broken, and the red silk around her wrist had been torn. She had defied their traditions by prioritizing her conscience over their expectations. Will she be judged?

A man with a cracked mask nodded. "Refusal can be as severe as betrayal."

Camela looked at her mother. "Why are you here to say I'm guilty?"

Her mother came closer. "Because I once refused," she said, her eyes meeting Camela's. "But he found me."

Camela's breath paused. "You fought him."

Her mother nodded. "I attempted to flee the flame, but he found me," her eyes drifting to Vincent.

"Now, so do you," she said softly.

Now it was Camela's turn. Her refusal to accept the throne was motivated by a desperate need to protect herself from the crown's burning, choking weight, rather than defiance. Will she accept the crown?

Camela's heart pounded in her chest. She looked at Vincent. He stepped forward.

"She refused the red silk ritual," he said.

"Untrue!" Camela cried. "I followed every step. I carried the rose until it broke."

Her mother's eyes gleamed. "But the silk snapped from your wrist. You tore it apart."

Camela's eyes flowed with tears. "It burned me. It choked me," she replied.

A judge leaned over, wearing a cracked porcelain mask. "Do we believe that pain justifies refusal?"

She shook her head. "No. I...don't want the crown."

The hall echoed with mocking laughter from the masked guests who surrounded her.

Camela fell to her knees, "I refuse!" Her voice trembled but grew stronger.

"I won't accept the throne!"

The hall shook. The red silk banner behind the throne shook violently. The wall mirrors cracked, and the sound of glass breaking echoed through the hall. She closed her eyes to shield them from the shards.

Her mother sighed. "You refuse power."

"And proud of it," Camela said, pressing her hands together.

Vincent's expression twisted with rage. "You will pay for this."

Her mother whispered, "Carry your guilt. But don't carry his crown."

Camela clutched her fists. "I will not wear it."

Vincent's voice echoed behind her. "You will be tested now."

Then, behind him, a masked servant approached, holding a goblet—a silver cup filled with dark liquid. The surface glowed red.

“Drink,” Vincent commanded. “This is your binding.”

Camela noticed the dark liquid shimmering inside, she closed her eyes in disgust.

"No!" she replied.

Gasps echoed through the hall.

The fox-masked judge stepped forward, tapped the silver goblet. "Then refuse," he urged.

Camela, still on her knees, refused. "I love my mother more than your power," she said, her voice shaky but firm.

A strange silence spreads throughout the room. Then, a judge wearing a white mask nodded slowly. "Wrong decision, but brave."

Camela fixed her gaze on Vincent, who stood with his hand in his pocket and maintained a straight face.

Another judge approached, this time wearing a golden fox mask. "Speak again," he said.

She closed her eyes to gather her boldness and declared confidently, "I refuse the throne because I will never betray my blood."

Unexpectedly she felt cold, unyielding chains around her wrists and ankles.

The masked judge leaned in. "Refusal does not result in mercy."

Camela shook her head furiously. “I would rather be chained than crowned.

A silk coffin was lowered around her, enveloping her in layers of fabric and locking her inside. She struggled to breathe.

Vincent's voice rang through the silk: "You asked for freedom."

"You asked me to rule and I refuse," she whispered as the coffin slid into darkness and total silence.

However, the silence did not last. A soft, female voice called out her name, and a tear in the silk revealed a beam of light.

Camela crawled forward, trembling and brushing the silk from her face. Blood trickled from her wrists as she gasped for breath.

Outside, faint chanting could be heard, along with the ringing of a doorbell— signalling the tribunal was about to end. She realized she had to move or risk being lost forever.

She stood up unsteadily, hearing another voice—a soft feminine tone coming from far away: "Camela…" The voice called out.

She took a deep breath and leaned closer to the silk fabric, which fluttered as light passed through.

She crawled out into the now-empty vaulted hall. Only one door was left open, beyond the throne.

Camela stepped through, entering a chamber illuminated by a single red lantern.

In the center of the room was a silver basin filled with water, with a perfect red silk rose without thorns floating on top. A hand reached out and placed the rose in her palm.

Looking up, she noticed Vincent standing behind her reflection in the glass wall. But behind him, her reflection looked different—a crown on her head, tears streaming down her cheeks, and hollow eyes.

He whispered, "Refusal is a choice, but never regret your decision."

The lantern flickered as Camela squeezed the rose, which quickly wilted and dripped blood into the water below.

Something moved in the dark corner of the room—a whisper: "Do you still refuse, Mother's child?"

Camela, startled, backed away as the door slammed shut behind her. Silk banners fell from the walls, and the red silk shimmered with her mother's reflection. She stood startled, watching the scene unfolding in front of her.

Vincent's expression darkened. “Walk away," he urged her.

Camela looked to her mother, who nodded faintly before fading into the background of red silk.

She faced Vincent, who replied boldly while bowing deeply. “You said no. Now you will serve for all time.”

She turned to Vincent, who declared boldly while bowing low. “You refused. Now you serve forever.”

Camela felt chains tightening around her ankles. She looked down, and her feet were bound in red silk rope.

"Why can't I move?" she whispered.

Vincent stood close. Too close, his eyes gleamed like smoke. In his hand—another ring. Silver, glowing with a heat that is painful to look at.

"This one is yours," he stated. "If you are ready."

She blinked at him, holding her breath. "Ready for what?"

"To make it real," he explained. "The Throne. The fire. Your mother's legacy."

He stepped forward and extended the ring. “Place it on the throne, Camela. Or we all burn.”

Her fingers trembled as she reached for it. The ring pulsed as if alive.

Just as she raised it to the throne—

CRASH.

All of the mirrors in the hallway shattered at once. A voice resounded—not from a person, but from thousands of broken reflections flashing her mother's face. Her mask. Her smile.

“Refuse again…and the flame will claim what’s left,” the voice echoed from every wall, every mirror, every shard, surrounding her from every direction.

Camela stared at the splintered glass, each fragment reflecting her mother's face.

Suddenly, they all lit up.

The banners above caught fire. Flames raced through the air, like veins on the red silk.