Heron

The dark was evermore quiet. Not a breath or a moan could be heard. We were all doomed in our own circumstances. Whether if it were for the murder of an innocent man, the theft of another's property or an act of treason, our punishments combined was the dark.

All in all, I couldn't think of a better way to be imprisoned. With darkness came stealth. The lingering buzz of power pulsed through my veins, always taunting and teasing. I never gave in. If I did, the fate of the kingdom would no longer be safe. What kind of life do I live? Not the fun kind. 

The king had no idea that the dark gave me such strength. To be brutally honest, neither did I. But that was until a fatal night of starvation and madness took over and a fleet of prisoners died within reach of me. Can you imagine? Ten men declared dead just by the lift of one's finger? No one knew how it happened. Those who had been alive to remember the massacre kept their mouths sealed shut. Fear was their savior down here. They suspected who had killed the men. And so no one dared approach me from that night on. It's been five years since the last time I spoke. It has been four years since I killed another human being. It had been six weeks since my last meal. And it has been two days since he had visited me.

He visited often. His almighty robes of fur and silk made him look like a walrus in a man's attire. His hair had whitened during the years, either from the stress of the kingdom or the pulling of his whore's hand. Either way, he looked like shit. I took great pleasure in knowing that he lingered down in the dungeons just to be near me. My power was always a seduction in his case. One breath and I could bring the king down on his knees, but what would be the fun in that if the entire kingdom came down with him.

My kingdom.