The book contains various short stories and one shots written by me. Majorly dominated by Thalapathy Vijay. Because initially this book was only for him.
You can guess what type of snippet this is based on the title. It's not the exact same plot but it's the same trope.
This is heavily PS inspired. So, credits to mani saab and thanks for the ps series.
I think I've talked about this with nandhu too... We both love this trope after all.
Also, the cities of this are not the actual historical cities, they're kind of easter eggs. The same applies to the dynasties and names. You will have the explanation in the bottom author notes.
So, anyway cast~
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His eyes slowly flutter open and it takes him a moment. A moment to not panic at the lack of sword in his hands and at the lack of ash and blood surrounding him. 'This is your palace... not the battle ground' he has to remind himself. It doesn't help that he prefers the battle ground.
He stares cursorily at the golden light that forced him to wake up. The orange hue of a risen sun reflecting off of his golden walls, weaving itself into his silk sheets, making his palace shine, lighting up his kingdom.... His Pazhavur. It's beautiful. He hates it.
He seems to carry a certain degree of resentment for beauty. For singing birds, blooming flowers and shining light, they remind him of her. To him, she was beauty itself, everything else in existence placed second to her. She was beauty that was his salvation. She was also beauty that was his ruin. He glares at the golden walls and hand woven drapery on them, he curses at the beautiful flowers that sit on his window.
How dare they remind him of her!
He sits up and runs a hand through his long brown curls to get a semblance of.. of something.a His eyes glance around the room and stop at his bedside table, he immediately grabs the dagger sitting on it. He finds solace at the feel of a weapon in his hands. Maybe he is a tyrant, but then again no tyrant of history has ever lived such a pathetic existence.
