Episode 43 - Turned Corners

(Music fades in)

  He died. Of course he did. And frankly, you should have already known that. Doubt and denial might have been hiding you from the truth, but if you’ve come this far, if you’ve already put so many of the pieces together that you know who I am and who my family is, then you know how the story goes. After all, there was only one reason why that story was told at all. 

And I suppose that raises a different set of questions. Why do we always end up telling the stories that are draped or laced with death? The furthest we ever seem to get away from it still has it unfolding in the background. And look, it’s not like I don’t understand where the impulse to tell these stories comes from. There’s something enlightening about those glimmers of hope that can rise from the ashes. We need them, I suppose. They breathe life back into our dying souls, souls being suffocated by the worst, more violent and heartless parts of our own nature. I won’t dismiss any of that. I am only asking why there is not more. Why aren't there widely told stories that don’t have that bite? 

I suppose some would say that without that bite there is no substance. I.e. There is nothing to hold onto or nothing to enjoy, but I can’t help but think that’s a different problem. It may explain how true crime got to be the way that it is, but in terms of what we need to unpack, the goal line has simply moved. Just because the problem goes beyond our dysfunctional relationship with true crime content doesn’t mean we’re off the hook. If anything we should be more concerned. How deep does this problem go? 

I’m more concerned, frankly, and I don’t think that is the guilt talking.

(Extended - Music fades out and new music fades in)

King Ezin trusted his wife. He trusted that if she said the poison was not detectable or traceable, it would not be. As a part of this trust, he invited doctors and scientists from all over the kingdom to examine the man that could have been his brother in law. The illness was just so sudden, he would said to any courtier who might have wondered if the king’s eagerness for an explanation was not a bit extreme. It defied expectation, he was ready to say. And worse yet, if it was the sort of disease that could jump to another, then certainly Princess Eathebel was in danger. 

The best way to protect her was to know what it was that killed the duke, the king proclaimed. And all the while, his expression stayed calm and stoic, outright unreadable. It was one he had seen his father put on a hundred times or more. The new king had modeled his expression from the old. It had always worked for the old king, but now King Ezin wondered about what was behind that expression. What sort of misdeeds was his father covering up? As a prince he had been kept away from his father’s many machinations. Perhaps if his father had lived, there might have come a time when the father sat the son down and provided a litany of his sins. It would not have been the sort of confession that asked for absolution. Rather, it was just an acknowledgement of the ledger, of the scores that some may want to settle later. 

(Extended - Music fades out and new music fades in)

Reality is such a fickle thing. And there was a time in our collective history when saying that was somewhat profound, but I think we are becoming increasingly aware of how delicate it is. There might be a world around us to dwell in. There might be something called reality, but we are dependent on the processes within our brain to make sense of it all. And those processes are influenced if not outright dictated by the forces around us. It starts when we’re small and cannot hold up any resistance or challenge to these influences. They have their chance to dig their claws into us. And they often do. And then we can try to pull them off of us. We can try to pry their influence off, but it doesn’t mean we’ll succeed. And it doesn’t mean everyone around us will also know to do the same. Or be successful. 

Perception is power, but it’s often a power wielded not by us directly but by those who had us before, those who dug their claws in or those who know how to use our scars. Perception is power, but it is a power that I don’t think we can control. 

(Extended - Music fades out and new music fades in)

Princess Eathebel dutifully took to her chambers as she would have been expected to do. She was supposedly in mourning, after all. There was a relief that the mourning period was shortened by a technicality, that his death happened before their actual wedding. In any event, it meant a break from court-related duties. She had always hated those. They were tedious at best and hurtful at worst. And she had had far too many of them as of late. 

She welcomed the quiet and took out one of her books to make the most of it. As she pulled it open, a knock sounded as if released by the gesture. Surprised and caught off-guard, the princess kept still. She was not expecting visitors. In fact, she expected quite the opposite. By order of the only authority greater than the king, some might call it, she was supposed to be left alone.  

“Sister,” the king called, challenging the hierarchy the princess held in her mind. “A word with you.”

(Extended - Music fades out and new music fades in)

I remember some of my early childhood, as anyone would. I remember that… um.. I remember the first time my aunt almost got married. I remember him and his kindness and his fondness for sweets. But what I don’t really remember are my grandparents. I know of them. But it feels more like I carried their ghosts through my childhood than I did anything else. The way my dad and aunt talked about their parents would have you thinking it was all their fault. They would have you think that they laid the stonework for what was to come. And I don’t know. I just didn’t… I just didn’t think that much about it. Doesn’t every adult carry baggage from their parents? I know I do. But it wasn’t until I entered some online space–I don’t even remember which site or algorithm sent me there–that I realized that the presence of this baggage means very little. It’s what you do with it that counts. Do you leave it behind or move past it? Do you grow something better from that soil? Or do you use it against others? 

It’s what you do with them, I’ll say again. It’s your response. They did not respond properly, and–for that matter–neither did I. 

(Extended - Music fades out and new music fades in)

The young princess asked the queen about the wedding that was never to come. She had been expecting one. She had seen the servants lay out her finest dress and shoes that were now packed away. As they were tucked back in their resting places, no one said a word to the young princess. And so questions were left swirling in her mind. But the ladies had a habit of keeping their eyes down around the young girl. They did their best to not look at her or acknowledge her. Speaking to her, even if it was to answer a question, seemed completely out of line. 

Perhaps it was a choice on their part. Perhaps they saw the way the queen hovered over the young girl and thought it best to avoid crossing her by keeping a distance like this. Perhaps they had heard the whispers about what the last royal daughter had been like or saw what the older princess was that day. In any event, they kept whatever distance they could manage from her, and although they would have to do differently if they were told to, they could more easily brush off the directions of a child. 

This was not lost on the child. She could see the general unease of those around her and  knew to keep her mouth shut. In any event, it would be better to wait for the queen, the princess thought. The queen knew everything. 

The young princess was the sort of girl to idolize her parents and see no wrong in what they did. Such can be said about many children. Some would say it is an evolutionary development. The helpless child must cling to the person or people who can help them survive a cold and unmerciful world. But for the princess whose world was still very much hostile, she needed her mother all the more. 

The young princess waited until her mother came into her chambers to ask about the wedding. At the word, the queen grew cold and sent the maids out of the room. As the ladies filed out, the princess stood looking up at her mother. Her eyes were still wide as she readied her mind for the lesson that was to come. But it did not come. Instead, what came was a firm hand across the face. 

(Extended - Music fades out and new music fades in)

It was a series of choices though, wasn’t it? It was a never ending series of choices. Once one was made, several more had to be made in service of it, covering it up along with its crimes. And in the moment, it can feel like those secondary choices, those covering up choices, were made for you because of course you have to cover up your misdeeds. But no, you don’t really. And for the sake of your victims–direct or otherwise–you should not. You should make the choice that you feel like you cannot make. 

Because the truth is, you don’t matter anymore. You are not to be considered anymore. You gave up that right when someone else gave up their life.

(Extended - Music fades out and new music fades in)

The breaks in a marriage can happen at any time. They can happen during a marriage banquet perhaps or some time before. But it is the quiet of the night, when light can offer up no distraction, that the couple sees what damage has been done and what consequences their choices have wrought. 

Queen Evanora stared at her husband across a darkened room, and though she knew it was him, she could not recognize him beneath the familiar features. He was a different person, she knew. He had been for a while. He had been baptized in the blood of a murder some years prior, but as the effect grew more intense, it became harder for her to ignore. She closed her eyes. The same could be said about herself, she knew, but she had never been the type for mirrors. 

The king did not have the decency to look away from her when he said, “There will be more, undoubtedly.”

It was not a surprise to her. She knew the prices that came with some bargains, how the cost continues to bleed you. This was that bleeding. And perhaps, Queen Evanora thought, she should be grateful that it was not her small family’s blood that was being poured out. This small family she had: husband, daughter, sister. There would be no more members, no more additions, and no more support. Besides them, she was alone in an unfamiliar land that was never outright hostile to her but gave her a role to play as a condition to her acceptance. It was just her family. They were all she had. 

She certainly didn’t have a choice.

(Extended - Music fades out and new music fades in)

The season is supposed to be ending soon, I know. Fifteen episodes each season, that’s the pattern I had started. And I will say that I’ve been back and forth on whether it makes sense to continue that pattern here. In some sense, it feels like this story is already finished. The duke is gone. He is gone. And even if you don’t know what I mean by that, you could perhaps feel a closing of sorts in that last episode. This episode feels forced, artificial. Like I’m holding onto you long after I have any business doing so entirely because I do not want to be alone anymore.

On my side, it feels inevitable. I need a liferaft of some sort and telling this story–however poorly I do so–is that liferaft. It feels almost as good as it did all those years ago, in the writing forum, in that group of people who could and  could not see right through me. But that doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t matter how I feel. If I need to close out this season, I should. 

It’s not like I won’t be back. There’s so much more story to be told. There are other victims. Stories I’ve alluded to but never said outright. That was what caught your attention wasn’t it? 

(Music gradually fades out)

Aishi Online is a production of Miscellany Media Studios. It is written, produced, performed, and edited by MJ Bailey with music from the Sounds like an Earful music supply. If you like the show, please leave a review, tell a friend, or donate to the show’s Ko-Fi account.