Inside the Evans home, life had always been relatively mundane. Routines were set years before: Max would get up earliest in the morning so he could exercise and then use the shower before Isabel awakened. Once in the bathroom, nothing short of the Jaws of Life could extricate her from her appointed morning beauty rounds. However, this morning, life's tidy design was becoming undone.

Isabel's alarm clock shows 7:29. Most people have a soft, relaxed expression on their face when sleeping, but this morning, Isabel appears as if she had been through an inquisition... Maybe she has. The clock strikes 7:30.

BEEP, BEEP, BEEP...

Isabel swings her arm wildly at the alarm clock, dropping it to the floor with a thud, along with some pictures that lay on her nightstand. Her obsessive-compulsive side atypically ignores this. With a groan, Isabel gets out of bed and heads for the mirror. She notices dark bags under her eyes and wrinkles she hadn't seen before. Using her powers, Isabel passes her hand over her face. This usually removes those unsightly features, however, to her surprise, her work is only partially successful. She resigns herself to a bad day.

With her pink bathrobe on, Isabel walks down the hallway towards the bathroom. She seems rather groggy despite her eight hours of sleep. She stretches her arms up and releases a huge yawn. Upon reaching the bathroom, its door is closed, steam venting from its edges. Isabel impatiently bangs on the door.

Isabel: Max! Is that you in there? You know it's my time.

Max: (inside the shower) Yeah, whatever.

Isabel: What the hell does that mean? You better not use up all the hot water!

Max: Fuck off!

Isabel is shocked. If those words had come from her lips, so be it, that was her way. But Max Evans had never taken such language to anyone for as long as she had known him, in this or any life. Staggered, Isabel retreats to her parent's bedroom.

Mr. Evans: (from inside the bedroom) No Izzy. I'm going to be late for my meeting!

Isabel: You get Max out of the other bathroom then!

With a slam, the master bedroom's bath door closes, Mr. Evans losing to Isabel's angered determination. Mr. Evans, half dressed and half shaven, comes out of the master bedroom, intent on finishing his shave in the other bathroom.

Mr. Evans: Gees Louise, what is going on here?

About to knock on the bathroom door, it suddenly opens. From the heavy steam emerges a freshly-showered Max. He, too, looks like he has befallen a cranky inquisitor. With a quick sidestep, he passes around his adoptive father and walks back to his room. Mr. Evans can only shrug before remembering his early morning meeting.

At the dining table that morning, breakfast seems like any other, cereal, eggs, bacon, milk, the usual assortment of goodies that could be found at any home, save the warehouse-sized bottle of Tabasco. Mr. Evans casually skims through the morning newspaper as Mrs. Evans brings a fresh batch of bacon to the table. Max and Isabel are overly obvious in avoiding each other.

Mrs. Evans: So why is everyone so quiet?

Mr. Evans: Just nervous about the deposition today.

Mrs. Evans: Not you honey, I meant the kids.

Isabel: I just didn't sleep well last night.

Mrs. Evans: Something the matter?

Isabel: Nothing.

Mrs. Evans: Max?

Max: Same thing... Can I be excused?

Before receiving permission, Max rushes for the door, as if the house were on fire.

Isabel: I'm going too...

Isabel follows suit, heading after Max.

Mrs. Evans: Was it something I said?

Mr. Evans: They're teenagers. Probably an argument about the bathroom.

Mrs. Evans doesn't buy the argument, but concedes that there was nothing to be won by going further. Max and Isabel seem to be more distant from her than before, more distant from each other too.

Outside the house, Max throws his knapsack into the Jeep. He has steam practically coming out of his ears, if that were possible. Isabel runs behind, barely keeping up.

Isabel: What is wrong with you?!

Max: I just don't like having dreams where I get my head cut off by my sister who by chance is also invading my privacy!

Isabel gulps. She hoped that he did not notice her, not last night when she did, in fact, dreamwalk Max. They couldn't talk after he revealed to her that she, his own flesh and DNA, had not only betrayed him, but also committed the deed herself.

She could still see Max's dream: she saw Vilandra... herself coming to her brother in his throne room. His ministers, both loyal and traitorous, surrounded him. She and Kivar had decided that this was the best time for assassination. Zan's security detail would never suspect that his own sister would be wielding a knife, hidden in her bodice. No one would dare to inspect her, especially not in that most infamous part of her anatomy. While others were detained for carrying anything resembling a weapon, she walked about with impunity.

If only Kivar could be with her at this most glorious hour. She would have been more than happy to share the glory with her beloved. Zan had always suspected that Kivar harbored ulterior motives, but Zan would never suspect her. Zan was a wonderful father, brother, and ruler. He was wise beyond his years, but also humble enough to turn for assistance from his trusted cohorts. But he was also overly trusting, believing that his circle of ministers would never betray him. Kivar had managed to turn almost every one, and those he didn't were left ignorant of his plot.

There was only one he could not convert and of all the people it was her consort, the man she was betrothed to, Rath. Oh, he was handsome enough, he was intelligent enough, he had proven his valor on the battlefield, but he was not Kivar. It was for the better since they would eventually have to kill him since he proved too powerful to ignore.

Upon entering the throne room, she could feel every eye on her. She knew what they were thinking: was this the moment that would change the history of Antar forever? She found no obstacle or inquiry on her advance towards her brother. As planned, she made eye contact with Jar. Although part of Zan's circle, he was outcast due to his incessant machinations for higher office. Zan was wise to pick Rath as his right hand man, but too kind in leaving a lower position for Jar.

Jar advanced towards Zan, two steps ahead of her. She looked up to see Zan, sitting regally atop the Throne of the Five Worlds. This sits five steps above the floor, placing the king high above his subjects.

Jar: (addressing Zan) If it may please Your Majesty, I have a proposal for your perusal.

Jar held a scroll in his hand and pompously unrolled it onto a table at the base of Zan's throne. Zan stood from his throne and came down the steps to look upon the plan.

Vilandra: Brother, may I approach?

Zan: (looking up) You need not ask, sister.

As she approached her brother, Jar eyed them. If he were a wolf, he would be licking his chops, smelling blood in the air. Zan opened his arms, ready to warmly hug his sister, instead he found a different reception from her!

Zan: Uhh...

Zan stumbles. He stares at his sister, who now holds a bloodied dagger in her hand. Those loyal to Zan attempt to intervene, only to be obstructed by those loyal to Kivar. Zan's personal security detail did not act, instead remaining at attention proving the depth of Kivar's infiltration. Had Rath been there, the result would have been very different, but that is why they chose this day to assassinate.

Zan touches his side and is shocked to find his blood, flowing out onto the floor. Soon, he follows that flow as he crumples to the grounds.

Zan: Why have you done this, sister? Have I wronged you in some way?

Jar: Oh king, my king. How for all your wisdom and power, you have not learned.

Jar walks over to one of the security detail and takes his sword. Any other individual, at any other time, would have suffered horrible consequences for touching the weapon of the king's personal guard, but not this time. Smugly, Jar returns to the fallen ruler, twirling the sword like a toy. He points it towards Zan, sizing him up like cattle at the slaughterhouse.

Zan: So you are the one to complete the treachery!

Jar: Oh, you expect me to do the slaughtering today? No, I am not high enough in station to do that unfortunately. You made that clear to me in the past. This pleasure will not be mine.

Jar hands the sword to her, with the blade lying on his upturned palms. She takes it in her hands. She didn't realize the weapons heft, or was it the weight of the situation she felt.

Zan: You then, sister, do you not love...

Vilandra: Brother, I do this for love, just not love for you!

With a spasm of frantic power, Vilandra takes the sword over her head and with a mighty hack, ends an unprecedented era of peace, prosperity and hope in the kingdom.

Isabel, from behind the crowd, can only watch in abject horror. She wanted to run away, hide her eyes, but deep down, she understood HER actions. Her emotions were twisted, shifting between fear, hate, and love as she watched herself... as she had taken the sword from Nicholas.

From the side of the chamber suddenly appears Ava, she is already awash in tears. She was detained outside the chamber, knowing fully the events transpiring within. Only when her love had been beheaded had she been allowed entry.

Ava: (holding Zan's head) No! No! No!

Jar takes the sword from Vilandra's hands, ready to strike down the queen, but Vilandra's hand stops his attack.

Vilandra: Enough! There has been enough bloodshed today. Do not harm her, for I love my sister.

Jar: Very well. She is of no consequence.

Back on their driveway in Roswell, Isabel is dumbfounded. How does one reply to the realities of murder, much less regicide?

Isabel: Max...