𝑈𝑛𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑙 ~ 𝐾𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐺𝑒𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒 𝐼𝐼𝐼

𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑇𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑣𝑒

King George was pulled into a different routine courtesy of Dr. Monro's words for being royal.

Every morning, he was pulled from the bed as the doctor shaved him. His face was pushed into the ice bath as he screamed the inner voices from his head, and also the pain of drowning as he was shivering in his warm body. His food for every time of the day was gruel which was vomited by the texture and dried oats in soapy liquid.

He was dressed in a black shirt and dark gray pants as he was walking down the tunnel in the basement of Kew Palace. Dr. Monro brought his treatment devices to his laboratory. When the assistants opened the door, the view frightened George.

There was a wooden chair with leather straps around the arms and legs, then a headrest with straps. In the room, there were caged different breeds of dogs, rabbits, and rats, anatomical charts on the walls, the skull of a human and creatures, shelves of books, and jars on the tables.

Dr. Monro ordered his assistant to strip him on a chair and he was pulled again. The men strapped him in the wrists and ankles, and lastly, the strap kept his head still with the leather, and they gagged with a small wood between his teeth. "If you cannot govern yourself, you're not fit to govern others. Until then, I shall govern you. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME, BOY?"

Dr. Monro leaned down to him as his eyes connected to him as he reclaimed his words. "I don't give a damn who your father was, how many titles you have, or whether you are God's own representative on Earth. In here, you are just another animal in a cage. And just like an animal, I will break you." He stood up before they all started the treatment on him.

As he remained silent, all he ever thought was her... Yearning to be with her, hearing her voice, wanting to kiss her lips again, seeing her squinted eyes when she smiled, hearing her laughter, and lastly... smelling the scent of flowers. The flowers she picked from her garden in France.

The muffled screaming in torment echoed in the laboratory. The leeches were sucking the blood from his chest. Sweating as shuddering from the creatures, then he shouted at Dr. Monro who was sitting in the corner while the assistants were pulling each leech off of him. "Doctor! Doctor!"

"What is that? Ungag him."

George rested his head while one assistant untied the gag of him, he spit the taste of wood out of his mouth. He looked at Dr. Monro and shouted, "We have been at this for days! How much longer?"

"As long as it takes to achieve our goal. That was our agreement."

"Our goal is to restore me to myself. Much more of this, and I will not have a self to return to! Is a broken king really better than a mad one?"

"I do not call it the "terrific method" for nothing." He stood up as he claimed his answers, "Terror is its very basis! But from that terror, what result.'

Dr. Monro pointed to a cage for the assistant to bring the caged animals. George followed the eyes as he saw two puppies in the cage from the top and bottom. Top was a golden, beautiful puppy who is Pomperian, and the bottom one was unfamiliar black-and-white with luxurious hair with droopy ears but the doctor began to tell the story within his reasons for terror methods.

"The wolves of the German Black Forest were famous, the fiercest in the world. Not content to steal chicken and cattle, they ran off with children, the old. Where are those wolves now? Only in legends, fairy tales, and here. Through science and force of will, the Germans transformed their wolves into this thing.' A Pomperian whimpered softly while George kept looking at the puppy with remorse, then Dr. Monro began to introduce the puppy below.

"This one... Papillon originated in France. From my information, she is one of the oldest breeds in the country from the 13th century. Papillon translated into butterfly symbolizes faith, hope, and rebirth to a new life. She is the problem. They are free-spirited creatures as they begin to run through the grass. That is just an imagination to them. A reality... she can be taken, be strapped to rip the shreds in terror. The terror can stay put on the desire to be free... as the reality can consume you.'