Wicked Ways: Genesis

The Question of Insanity

"Mister Minister, do you think that bringing children from the island to the Renvelir mainland will result in mass civil unrest or hysteria across the kingdoms?"

"Mister Minister, do you think that these children will cause excess amounts of violence or drop outs at Maledumfici school?"

"Mister Minister!!!"

A constant horde of reporters surround the Prime Minister as he attempts to reach the lift, pestering him with the same questions that they had been asking at least ten times a day for the past month. Their unceasing, irritating, tortuous interrogatives have filled his ears at all hours of the day even in his office, even in his home when he was alone with his family but especially now, as he tried to enjoy a few seconds of reflection before he crossed the threshold of the lifesucking void that his office had become over his almost three years in office. Every question he was asked seemed to take a day off of his lifespan, slowly tormenting his mind and, with his press conference drew closer by the hour, Tareos was almost certain he would die tomorrow. In only four hours the Prime Minister would be free of the shackles of interrogation even if only for the second or two of shock that would render the crowd speechless immediately after he reveals the identities of his three chosen. Needless to say, the Minister was stressed.

Those four hours seemed to go by quicker than Devonworth would have liked but somehow he was the most efficient he had been in nearly two months; He signed two laws into existence, oversaw a security counsel trial with the Sorcerer's Satorum for a seemingly unimportant cause (He deemed it unimportant since he had forgotten all of the relevant details of the case the second that he adjourned the court room), yelled at a few interns working for his senior staffers and had an inattentive meeting with the heads of prominent Renvelirian families that were concerned about racial intermingling that would come about from taking children from the isle to the mainland. When three o'clock finally rolled around Tareos sat in his decrepit, stuffy office writing a letter to the governor of Cantor in regards to the region's new legislation regarding the legality of selling Vugs and Pixies in their local markets.

Tareos Devonworth's office was remarkably grand, packed to the brim with magical artifacts and looking glasses which would, sometimes, reflect the pictures of Ministers of old that seemed to look over Tareos's shoulder, judging every decision he made, every bill that would cross paths with his maniacal quill that seemed to threaten Tareos to write, to legalize, to condescend. No matter what Devonworth filled his office with, he was brimming with dread every time he opened its door. Maybe it was in part due to the late night shifts he would take, chained to his desk as the sun slept, signing paperwork, writing letters, memorizing speeches, leaving for home after midnight only to return to his hell after the sun had risen? Maybe it was due to the endless, intolerable meetings he would have every day with his individual cabinet members? Maybe it was because he could only sit at his desk as the couch that he dreamed of lounging on during his late nights was covered in files and books and letters as was the armchair by the grand, stone fireplace with its deep mahogany paneling on the outside of the floo, engraved with the crest of his his country, The United Kingdoms of Renvelir? He yearned for those nights in his armchair where he would sit, reading, during his first few months in office. He was becoming a lame duck.

Tareos had just finished his final sentence and was about to sign his name at the bottom of the scroll when there was a gentle yet confident knock upon the door.

"Come In."

The dark, paneled mahogany door opens at the Prime Minister's command, revealing a tall elvish man with fair, pinkish skin, sharp pointed ears, a slim nose, sharp cheekbones and long limbs. His eyes were a clear cornflower blue and came to a fine, hawk-like point. His hair was long, straight and as white as snow and his robes were of light blue linen, edged in silver binding and secured at the waist with a belt of the same color.