A man with hair black as ebony stood at the top of a tower… his tower. He gazed triumphantly through the tall arched windows at the Full Worm Moon—she was big and golden. The black-haired man was working right in line with the Cosmos: tomorrow was Ostara, the day of new beginnings, and thanks to him, New-Camelot would be brought into fruition. He had done nearly everything he needed to do in order to manifest this.
All but one final task…
The man turned to a female elf who lay on the cold citrine floor. She had dark green hair and bright green eyes, colours so similar to the forests his men had been cutting down.
She gave him a look that begged for mercy, but the man paid no attention. (He was going to have to get used to ignoring such looks.)
As the man adjusted the hogtie in which she was bound, he simply let her scream—though she could not form any words, for he had her in a witch’s bridle as well. This was a nasty-looking cage for the face, often made of iron—but of course, his was made of gold—that prevented the wearer from talking. He reminded himself that he was doing all this for the benefit of the common folk. They had begged him for help, begged him to save them, begged him to protect them.
Saved them he had, and protect them he would; he was creating the new world they had dreamed of, a world where no folkian would ever have to live in fear of the monarchy.
This world, however, would require some level of sacrifice.
Continue reading “IV: Aurora and Luna | Prologue: A Near Thirteen Suns Prior”