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Kinwrathi · (11-12-2013)

But What, If That History is Already Rewritten?

The scent, the unmistakable odor of death came from the body laying on the ground, not even five feet from where the Empress had taken a seat. The King's throne, furnished with a purple tinted fur imported from the land where the crown still mattered. Where news of his death will spread like a wildfire, urging local pockets of Lords and Dukes to spring into action and declare a new bloodline as royal. Leaning back, allowing the trapped heat of the fur to make herself comfortable, Arin laughed aloud at the thought, the mental image of those very same distinguished and refined individuals acting like a conglomerate of idiocy once the slightest thing fails to go as planned.

"No family was meant to rule," she began to herself, filling the soundless room with some life once more. "It all comes down to one. The one, who takes it by any means necessary."

Repeating that line, that old bit of war propaganda over and over to herself, the sick, callous smirk spreads itself across her face. She drums her fingers on the arm of the oversized chair, laughing like a child as the situation's weight finally hit her. Every word that she uttered, finally dawned on her the truth in what she was saying.

"I am that one!" she exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air, she was as giddy as giddy could be. And then, the door swung open and bloodstained armor and all, the general stepped into the room, his eyes fixed on the corpse laying before him. Long enough, so that she could change her expression to an anxious, solemn state.

"What in the name of the Divines happened here?" he asks, raising his sword and scanning the room for so much as the slightest hint of movement. The only he sighted was that of Empress Borrellia rising up from the seat, and making her way over to him.

"That lying, two faced, rat! He was, he was a traitor!" Hands, head, whole body shaking, she raises her arm and points to the scrap lying on his chest. The symbol she had taken from her own possession, and left on the body of the man she had killed sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the wholly black jacket he had been wearing.

"Son of a bitch," the general mutters, trailing off and kneeling beside the body. The emblem in his hand, he looks it over multiple times in sheer disbelief. "To think, out of anybody it could've been, it was him." Anger washes over his face and he punches the ground. "Dammit! Damn him to Sethin! Rat bastard!"

"He, he told me something before I, I killed him."

"What'd he tell you?" he questioned, pulling her in an embrace. Suddenly out of view, she burrows her head into his shoulder, letting out a sigh that sounds similar to a sob. Pulling her head back out, she weakly answers.

"That he, that he killed Samir."

"That's a lie! We, we caught the perpetrators red handed!"

Another loose end tied up, she thought momentarily to herself, masking the accomplishment behind teared up eyes and a red nose.

"B-but, he told me so."

"Lying, even in his death. What a pathetic, weak excuse for a man he was. I wish that he's agonized by whatever torture a coward like him gets."

"We could only be so lucky." No longer did she suppress the smile, looking down at the corpse. The sole of her boot stomped down onto his unmoving, pale body, driving out the last squirt of blood onto the floor. Her eyes wild, she turns back to the general, eyeing him up. "Could you please send for someone to clean this mess up?"

The man gulped.

"Um, yes. Of course, ma'am!" He saluted before turning and exiting through the very widely used front door. Upon the sound of the door falling back into place, she lets out a deep sigh, before speaking to the wall.

"I could really get used to this," she stated, kicking the body one more time before turning away to face the door leading to the balcony. She dared not push the door open to confirm her suspicions, the silence in the streets proved it.

The sky had turned crimson.

"All is well."

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