April 7, 2015: Corações de Inês

She watches the flickering image of her husband cutting the hearts out of two men.
The little scene plays over and over on the white wall.
A smile stays fixed on her lips. It’s cruel and cold. Dead.

Nec spe, nec metu.

Her skin looks like leather, adorned in the most expensive jewels and lace.
Over and over her husband is cutting and cutting.

Her voice is quieter than dust falling in sunlight. Her smile never fades, never twitches. Cloudy eyes focused on the wall in front of her.
Her husband cuts out another heart.

Nec spe, nec metu.

I watch with her. With every cut it becomes easier to watch. Entrancing. King Pedro cuts with Sisyphean  vigor.
The same two hearts drop at his feet.
He looks at the camera, begins to speak, then it starts over.

She smells of freshly dug earth, perfume, and the forced kisses of adoration.
The queen that defied all living royals.
At her feet is a long box made of stone.

The movie plays. The stabbing and cutting blending into the beats of my heart.
I’m afraid if it doesn’t play again my heart will stop.

Nec spe, nec metu.

Her neck twitches and I see the memory of a blade, the cry of a young child.
The movie plays.
The collective gasp of a crowd as the first heart falls.
The movie skips, starts over, begins to burn in the projector.

Flickering lines on the wall and I find it hard to breathe.
A raven flies by.
The movie starts again, suddenly, with the sound of metal on stone.

Her smile widens slightly, the skin cracking. A light in her eyes. A flash of pride.

Her husband kills two people, their celluloid hearts on the ground.
He looks at the camera and whispers.

Até ao fim do mundo

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