#michelleblake

Her voice is a whisper, almost to herself.

“Queen, mother, wife… yet none of it feels enough. When did power become loneliness?”

“No one said it woule be easy and i can deal with that, but some guidance would have been nice. Especially since more worlds appeard and i need to keep the peace between all of them, even though my lovely husband Olivier would prefer to declare war against all of them, only to rule over more than just Hell-City.”

The crown gleams, but her eyes shine with something darker: doubt.

Louisa’s voice drips venom.

“So the throne is yours now? Enjoy it while it lasts, Michelle. The City remembers its true Queen.”

Michelle’s smile is sharp.

“Perhaps. But, You gave gave me crown and kinddom a long time ago Louisa. Hell City is mine now and I make sure I will protect it I Promise. ”

Michelle’s voice is velvet, sharp as glass.

“You are a princess, April. Act like one.”

April smirks, dragging on her cigarette.

“Queens play dress-up, Mum. I play with fire. Guess which one burns longer?”

April leans against the wall, arms crossed, smoke curling from her cigarette, eyes cutting toward Olivier at her mother’s side.

“I told you before, Mum. He ain’t right. He watches you too close. I don’t trust him.”

Olivier doesn’t flinch. His smile is precise, his voice smoother than silk. “A king watches his queen. Obsession? No. Devotion.”

At her knee, June clings to her ribbons, voice childlike, hopeful: “Mommy… don’t let us fight. We can stay like this, forever… can’t we?”

Michelle says with a small smile to April, while she keeps her composure. “My dear little blood-bat, you know that Olivier and I share the same… ‘devotion’ for each other.”

Michelle sits more upright again and adds to April. “Now be a deary, and pose for our family picture.”

Olivier rests just beside her, his cream suit immaculate, cane propped against the table. His gaze never leaves her, obsession carved into every precise movement.

Across the table, April sprawls in her chair, boots kicked onto the wood, cigarette dangling from her fingers. Her dark eyeliner glints as she shoots Olivier a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

“Don’t think I don’t see it,” she says, voice dripping venom. “That weird look. Always watchin’ her like she’s your goddamn crown. It’s sick.”

Olivier’s smile is thin, unshaken. “Respect, child. Your mother is Queen. My Queen. Devotion is hardly sickness.”

April leans forward, smoke curling between her words. “Devotion? Obsession’s the word you’re chasin’. And I don’t trust men who stare at my mum like she’s prey.”

At the far end, June hums softly, pink ribbons trailing across her fingers. Her doll-like face tilts toward Michelle, voice syrup-sweet:

“Mommy, don’t let them fight… I just want us to stay together.”

Michelle raises her glass, gaze cutting through them all like fire. “A Queen does not squabble with children. Nor with kings, my sweet girl. This City bends to me— to us, and you will remember it.” She puts her glass down and adds with a honey laced dark smirk “just as much as whole Hell-City, Red-City and the Golden-City”