27 — Beatrice von Lutetia

I was in the dream.

Not the courtyard. Not the council room. The dream itself. The raw stuff of it. The place before places. The dark before the light.

Felice was there.

She was not sitting. She was not standing. She was screaming.

"BEATRICE!"

I had never heard her scream before. Not when she was burning. Not when she was dying. Not when she was trapped in my chest. She had always been calm. She had always been composed. She had always been the teacher.

Now she was screaming.

"BEATRICE, STOP! BEATRICE, DON'T DO THIS! BEATRICE!"

I looked at her.

"What's happening?"

She didn't answer.

She just pointed.

And I saw.

---

The Kingdom was in the dream.

Not the waking Kingdom. The dream Kingdom. The place where the nightmares lived. The place where the buried truth waited.

And the truth was walking.

She was tall. Taller than Felice. Taller than Celine. Her hair was silver — not grey, not white, not the dull silver of age, but the silver of moonlight on water, the silver of a blade drawn at dawn. It fell past her waist and moved like it was underwater.

Her eyes were crimson. Both of them. Not mismatched like Felice's. Both crimson. Both ancient. Both hungry.

She wore nothing.

Not the way Felice wore nothing. Not provocative. Not shameful. Not even naked. She wore nothing the way a statue wears nothing. The way a mountain wears nothing. She was not undressed. She was uncovered. She was what was underneath the clothes. She was what was underneath the masks. She was what was underneath the Kingdom.

Her body was perfect. Not in the way the Church called things perfect — not modest, not hidden, not draped in white and gold. Perfect in the way a sunrise is perfect. Perfect in the way a holy relic is perfect. Perfect in the way something is perfect when it has never known shame and cannot imagine it.

She walked through the streets of the capital, and the commoners looked at her, and they did not look away.

They couldn't.

She was too pure to look away from.

---

I don't know how to describe it.

It wasn't a transformation. It wasn't a curse. It wasn't magic. It was recognition. The commoners looked at Beatrice, and they saw themselves. They saw the hunger they had buried. They saw the rage they had swallowed. They saw the truth the Kingdom had told them wasn't true.

And they became it.

Their skin darkened. Their eyes turned crimson. Their teeth sharpened. Their hands grew claws. Their backs arched and their voices deepened and their bodies stretched into shapes that were not human and had never been human.

They didn't scream.

They didn't cry.

They just became.

And then they knelt.

Because she was holy. Because she was pure. Because she was the Primordial Motherhood Demoness, and her body was not a body, it was a blessing. And when a blessing walks through the streets of a Kingdom that has spent ten years burying its own truth, the people do not run from it.

They kneel.

And they rise as demons.

---

"BEATRICE!"

Felice was still screaming. She was standing beside me in the dream, and she was screaming, and her voice was cracking, and her hands were shaking, and for the first time since I had met her, she looked like a person.

"BEATRICE, PLEASE! THEY'RE NOT YOURS! THEY'RE NOT YOUR CHILDREN! YOU CAN'T DO THIS!"

Beatrice didn't hear her.

Beatrice was in the waking world. Felice was in the dream. They were sisters, and they were in the same Kingdom, and they were in different places entirely.

"Felice," I said.

She didn't answer.

"Felice."

She stopped screaming. She looked at me. Her eyes were wet.

"She's doing it," she said. "She's actually doing it. She's converting them. She's turning them into demons. She's — she's making them into what she thinks they are."

"What does she think they are?"

"She thinks they're her children. She thinks they're the abandoned ones. She thinks the Kingdom threw them away, and she's the only one who loves them, and she's going to save them by making them into monsters."

"Is she wrong?"

Felice stared at me.

"What?"

"Is she wrong? The Kingdom did throw them away. The Kingdom did lie to them. The Kingdom did bury their dead and call it zero casualties. Isn't she right?"

Felice didn't answer.

"She's doing what you would do. She's revealing the truth. She's showing them what they really are."

"I know."

"She's using your philosophy."

"I know."

"She's your sister."

"I know."

"So what do we do?"

Felice looked at me.

"We don't do anything," she said. "You do."

I walked toward the stage.

Not the stage in the waking world. The stage in the dream. The stage where the man had died. The stage where the Sleepwalker had appeared. The stage where everything had begun.

Beatrice was standing on it.

She was still naked. Still tall. Still silver-haired. Still crimson-eyed. She was watching the demons attack the academy, and she was smiling.

Not a cruel smile. Not a triumphant smile. A motherly smile. The smile of someone watching her children play.

"BEATRICE!"

Felice was beside me. Screaming again.

"BEATRICE, STOP! THEY'RE NOT YOURS! THE ACADEMY ISN'T YOURS! THE KINGDOM ISN'T YOURS! YOU CAN'T DO THIS!"

Beatrice didn't hear her.

But I did.

And I walked up the steps.

I stood in front of Beatrice.

She looked at me.

For the first time, she looked at me.

"Hello, Clara," she said.

Her voice was soft. Warm. The voice of a mother.

"You're Felice's girl."

"I'm not hers."

"You're in her head."

"She's in mine."

"Same thing."

She tilted her head.

"You're the Sleepwalker."

"Yes."

"You're Dream."

"Yes."

"You're the one who holds the nightmares."

"Yes."

"You're the one who saved the Kingdom."

"Yes."

"Then why are you here?"

I looked at her.

"To stop you."

She smiled.

"You can't stop me, Clara. I'm not doing anything. I'm just showing them what they are."

"You're turning them into demons."

"I'm letting them be demons."

"You're killing them."

"I'm saving them."

"You're destroying the Kingdom."

"I'm destroying the lie."

She walked toward me.

"The Kingdom buried them, Clara. The Kingdom buried their children. The Kingdom buried their parents. The Kingdom buried their lives. And then the Kingdom told them to be grateful."

She stopped inches away.

"I'm not the monster here. I'm the mother. I'm the one who loves them. I'm the one who's giving them a chance to be what they really are."

"And what are they?"

"Demons."

"And what are you?"

She smiled.

"I'm the Primordial Motherhood Demoness. I'm the one who births demons. I'm the one who raises them. I'm the one who loves them when no one else will."

She reached out and touched my cheek.

Her hand was warm. Not the warmth of flesh. The warmth of something older. Something that had been warm since before the Kingdom existed. Something that had never known cold.

"You could be one of mine, Clara. You could be my daughter. You could be loved. You could be protected. You could be seen."

I didn't answer.

"All you have to do is let go."

I looked at her.

"Let go of what?"

"Of the Kingdom. Of the lie. Of the dream. Let them be what they are. Let them burn. Let them die. Let them be reborn."

"No."

She tilted her head.

"No?"

"I'm not letting them burn. I'm not letting them die. I'm not letting them be reborn."

I stepped back.

"I'm holding the dream. I'm holding the Kingdom. I'm holding the lie."

She stared at me.

"You're holding a lie."

"Yes."

"You're protecting a Kingdom that buried its own people."

"Yes."

"You're saving a Kingdom that will never thank you."

"Yes."

"Why?"

I looked at her.

"Because it's the only thing I can do."

She stared at me.

And then she smiled.

Not a motherly smile. Not a cruel smile. Something else. Something that looked almost like respect.

"You're already pure," she said. "You're already holy. You just don't know it yet."

And then Felice stepped forward.

She walked past me. She walked up the steps. She stood in front of her sister.

"Sylvia," Beatrice said.

"Beatrice."

"You're here."

"I'm here."

"I've been waiting."

"I know."

"I've been waiting for a thousand years."

"I know."

"You left me."

"I know."

"You left me with the children. You left me with the Kingdom. You left me with everything. And you went into the Abyss and you became a monster and you never came back."

"I couldn't come back."

"You didn't try."

"I couldn't."

"You didn't try."

"I couldn't."

"You didn't—"

"I couldn't."

The sisters stared at each other.

The demons kept attacking. The academy kept burning. The dream kept turning. But for a moment — just a moment — everything was quiet.

"I killed people," Felice said.

"I know."

"I consumed people."

"I know."

"I became a demon."

"I know."

"And you still—"

"You're still my sister."

Felice didn't answer.

Beatrice walked toward her.

"I'm not here to fight you, Sylvia. I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to help you. I'm here to help everyone."

"You're turning them into demons."

"I'm saving them."

"You're killing them."

"I'm freeing them."

"You're destroying the Kingdom."

"I'm destroying the lie."

Beatrice stopped inches away.

"And you know what? You know it too. You know the Kingdom is a lie. You know the Church is a lie. You know everything you ever believed in was a lie. That's why you left. That's why you went into the Abyss. That's why you became what you are."

She reached out and touched Felice's cheek.

"You're just like me. You always were."

Felice closed her eyes.

She didn't pull away.

She didn't argue.

She just stood there, with her sister's hand on her cheek, and she let herself be touched.

And then she opened her eyes.

"I'm not like you," she said.

Beatrice tilted her head.

"No?"

"I'm not like you. I never was. I wanted to believe in something. I wanted to believe in the Church. I wanted to believe in humanity. I wanted to believe in all of it. And when I couldn't, I became a monster."

She stepped back.

"But you never wanted to believe in anything. You just wanted to be loved. You just wanted to be seen. You just wanted to be a mother."

She looked at Beatrice.

"And now you're destroying a Kingdom because it didn't love you back."

Beatrice stared at her.

And then she laughed.

It was a warm laugh. A motherly laugh. The laugh of someone who had just been told the truth and had decided not to be hurt by it.

"Oh, Sylvia," she said. "You always did know how to ruin a moment."

She stepped back.

"I'll leave you alone. For now. But I'll be back. I'll always be back. Because you're my sister. And I love you."

She turned.

She looked at me.

"You're the one who's holding it," she said.

I didn't answer.

"You're the one who's keeping them safe."

I didn't answer.

"You're already pure," she said. "You're already holy. You just don't know it yet."

She smiled.

And she was gone.

I closed my eyes.

And I held it.

Not the courtyard. Not the stage. Not the demons. Not Beatrice. The dream. The whole dream. The whole Kingdom. Every nightmare. Every buried truth. Every lie. Every cover-up. Every death. Every silence.

I held it all.

I held the commoners. I held the demons. I held their rage. I held their hunger. I held their grief. I held everything they had become and everything they had been.

I held Beatrice's laughter. I held Felice's tears. I held the thousand years between two sisters who had once been everything to each other.

And I didn't let go.

The demons stopped.

Not because I killed them. Not because I fought them. Because I held them. Because I gave them a place to be. Because I let them exist inside the dream instead of in the waking world.

They were still demons. They were still angry. They were still hungry. But they were inside. They were contained. They were held.

Felice was standing beside me.

She was not screaming anymore.

She was not crying.

She was just standing. Looking at the place where her sister had been.

"You stopped her," she said.

"I held the dream."

"You stopped her."

"I held the dream."

She looked at me.

"Thank you."

I didn't answer.

"I know you don't want my thanks. I know you don't want anything from me. But thank you."

I looked at her.

"You're welcome."

She nodded.

And then she was quiet.

And I held the dream.