When my skin is not my own and the heart is tainted, there is still one thing that will always belong to me. My soul! No more shall it weep in the darkest of nights but it shall become a beacon of light for all those who cannot see. I am a warrior...
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“I see you’ve had a glimpse of my famous basement, haven’t you, Lalzari?” the king’s voice dripped with amusement, as though he were toying with her for his own entertainment.
Lalzari’s heart sank, her thoughts racing. He wants to desensitise me... she realized, He wanted me to see how much power he really holds. Her silence, like a thin shield, was the only thing standing between her and the king’s relentless grasp.
“You’ve caused great corruption in this land,” Lalzari declared, her voice steady, no longer holding back her thoughts. If the king had been testing her, she now intended to test him. Her sharp words were only the beginning of her calculated endeavors, and by the slight smirk on his face, she could see the king was intrigued, perhaps even entertained, by her boldness.
“No... nooo, Lalzari, my love,” the king cooed, his tone dripping with false warmth. “You’ve got it all wrong. I’m only setting things right. You see, these people... they won’t give you anything. They’re useless, and their lives are meaningless. I’m merely setting them free.” His conviction was palpable, as though he truly believed the vile justification pouring from his lips.
Lalzari’s grip tightened, her knuckles white as she fought to maintain her composure. The urge to lash out was overwhelming, but she forced herself to stay still. Freedom felt so close, yet so impossible to grasp—like water slipping through her fingers. The more she reached for it, the further away it seemed to flow.
“Master... how can one be free, chained up behind bars?” Lalzari asked, her voice unwavering as she met the king’s gaze. Her eyes spoke the truths her tongue could not, each look more piercing than any word she could utter.
The king smiled, his eyes gleaming with twisted affection. “Sweet, sweet Lalzari,” he began, his tone laced with condescension, “they are free from the torture of this world. That is the greatest freedom. Don’t waste your pity on them. They were destined for this.” He adjusted his attire, his movements deliberate, as though he took pride in the suffering he had inflicted. “You, on the other hand, are destined for power and greatness. Be happy, be grateful for that.”
Lalzari’s stomach churned as she watched him, the disturbing satisfaction he took in the lives he had destroyed palpable in the air. She remained silent, her mind racing with thoughts of escape, rebellion, and the meaning of true freedom.
The servant returned, arms full of long-sleeved dresses, and handed them to the king. "Here you go, my sweetest Lalzari. Now, you should only wear what pleases you," the king said with an unsettling smile. Lalzari gave him a simple nod, refusing to offer the satisfaction of a “thank you.” Her thoughts, however, remained elsewhere—on the innocent souls who had suffered under his rule. After a moment, she broke the silence.
