I'M YOUR PUPPET; invincible

chapter 3

[act three; chapter three     -     always]

    The bones of her screamed for purpose. Ached for it, as if a tooth rotted in the back of her mouth. As if nothing in her being would ever be sated. Nothing, then, would be enough to fill the cavern in her soul, not as it deepened and darkened into something that could never be truly good or light.

    Even then, as she paints the world in her image, oiled in the same crimson that leaked from within, she felt as empty as ever. Screaming and begging for relent from some divine intervention. From something that could give her the purpose that she lacked so entirely.

    Her purpose was gone. As if it had never existed before. She was a lone soul in this life, forced to exist for centuries—longer, even. Alone, she would be. She would forever remain as such.

    Green eyes, so near to white, peered across this world. This planet that had once been a home to her. Of sorts.

    Smoke billows into the air. Fire licks its trails, scaling the sides of the surrounding buildings and ruins that still stand. The streets have silenced, a hush reaching across everything and anything. No screams echoed. No cries for mercy. Nothing.

    "Empress."

    She does not turn. She hardly breathes.

    "I suggest you find your leave unless you have something of actual worth to report." Her voice is still foreign. Still strange in the sharpness of it. The authority.

    The voice is weak as it says, "Of course. I do have a worthy report. The final rebels have been taken out."

    "Eradicated entirely?"

    "Yes."

    A nod. "Good." Her chin grazes her shoulder as she spares a sidelong glance. "I want them strung up. A lasting message for any citizens who remain. So they know what happens if they disobey." She turns fully then, sparing one last look upon the city. Brown hair, albeit tied tightly off, brushed her waist. "If any sign of him comes through, I want to know immediately."

    She pushes off, then. Into the sky. It's not gray, not as it once had been under the influence of those who came before her. The world was dead and dying, decaying everyday that they still stood and breathed.

    Though poison had pricked her being and made bitter her tongue, she did not wish to be a dictator. She did not thrive to enslave or push to make ill all of those who remained here. She would not be the weapon they made her out to be. The puppet.

    The green grass cushioned the padding of her feet as she landed. Far outside any remaining cities built by the previous regime laid a quiet plot of land. Untouched by war, flourishing still.