It was a simple white room with walls that appeared to be velvet. The white bed took up most of the room with sheer curtains hanging from all sides, much like a cage. In said cage, a small gold crown laid still on the cream covers.
The queen who once slept there, was carelessly flung out the window many nights before, her blood splayed on the sidewalk. The same place a small boy previously wrote; NOW, IT IS TIME TO STRIKE BACK.
The night that it all happened. The night the kingdom had fallen and the Queen's children had become slaves. It all happened so long ago that the only memory of it played on loop in a small memory chamber.
Crimson drops flew around a muscular man as he slashed his enemy's flesh. His body rocked with laughter, as his sanity slowly creeped out of his system. His troops followed his example, slaughter and bloodshed was all throughout the castle halls.
The men and woman stormed up the stairs, ready to end the queen's life. The dictatorship was to be no more. A maid stepped up to them with no fear, the men saluted to her.
If it weren't for her masterplan and superior acting; the dictatorship would still be alive today.
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