Blacksmith

Part 1: Toil

Every day, every second, everybody minute: I spend countless hours perfecting every metal, copper, silver, into the perfect weapon. Sometimes it's a mace, other times a sword. Maybe it's a spear or shield of some sort. Since I can only use my allowance to buy things in the markets once a month, I spend my time filling my nostrils with the aroma of scorched charcoal, smelting whatever weapon is asked of me.

You should know that the King doesn't know about my existence, locked up in this small cellar, paid only twenty copper every two weeks. The King is a noble man, very excellent at what he does. I've seen him walking around the castle corridors on my way to the markets.

He has fine, blue hair with a golden crown, not of a king, but of a prince. His robe is red with violet fur around the rims, a purple belt tied around his waist to keep his garment in order. In his left eye is the aquamarine blue lens of a monocle with a gilded golden rim. His smile is most peculiar; instead of it being curved, it's zig-zagged.

I adore the King. My determination, my strength, my faith- it is all restored by His Highness. We are in complete opposite ranks, though; he would have no interest in a petty blacksmith such as I. So, with that, I decided that when he weds, I shall simply smite myself with my own blade.