The Colour of Her Eyes

Prologue

The Beginning of the End?

He was sleek of nature, built upon legs capable of carrying only him, though it seemed at times that they might fail at that. He was a glutton by all accounts though he was slight of build, seemingly capable of escaping the diabolical restraints of food worship. He was ever so slim - how could she describe him any more aptly than that? He was tall too, something he was ever so proud of; he claimed it to be a mixture of progenitor prowess coursing through his thick veins that granted him such a boon.

Amongst his persons, he carried finery the likes of common folk obsessed. Some believed that his slothfulness may have been derivative of the weight he carried in gold and jewels. He tended to wear his crown as much as possible, though its weight had become something of an ailment and his neck had become the bearer of the burden, becoming quite crooked.

Goddamn, that man - oh how she loathed him so. His laboriously chiselled face, cheekbones that had never pierced his flesh that led to sunken eyes, puddles of avarice set about them. Dark hair covered his head, long and fragrant with rose thorns. His chin, one such extremity which sought to put his cheekbones to shame, had indeed succeeded to pierce its own flesh. A small scab could be seen about its exit, to which his hand tended to itch. The small tuft of hair that paraded as something akin to a beard did nothing to hide this obscenity.

Oh how they all loathed him in their silence. He was perched haphazardly upon a chair carved of fine oak, crested with several jewels and decorative metals to form an elegant coat of arms. It was a throne bathed in the blood of those who had fought for it, and all the anger and wickedness in their hearts. It was a throne one of the men or women beside her would soon take for themselves, the hardships of the last months standing as a makeshift trail for their worth.

Amidst the thoughts in turmoil, Willow found herself bumped forward with a surprisingly harsh shove. Though she turned on her heel midstep, mouth twisted up into a sneer, any argument she might have had died instantly upon her lips when greeted by the blank expression belonging to the ominous mask of a Sentinel. Without a hint of variance between the handful that littered the ballroom, the Sentinels stood guard as the watchers of the Confederation - the ruling body of the nation, sat only slightly below the Emperor himself. She'd always found them particularly creepy, having never seen them offer any hint of emotion. Did they even have faces beneath those masks, she had wondered as a child. Now though, this feeling seemed to envelop her entire body, skin-crawling; it was as though they were watching her rather than the room. That was ridiculous though, right?

Continuing forward despite the rock of emotions in her throat, Willow quickly found herself lining up before the stage the Emperor stood proud upon, the other 4 final participants at her sides. They would never see the light of day again. What was the better outcome, she wondered; become a prisoner to a world that despised you, no more than a doll to be placed on display under the pretence that you are in control, or to greet Death with an opened mouth filled with screams and loose everything you have worked for thus far?

More than a handful of the contestants had not yet even had the chance to experience this so-called life and here they were now, staring Death in the face. Why hadn't anyone warned them that he grinned with yellowed teeth and sat upon a throne of lies?

"Welcome, one and all!" His tone was unmatched; whenever he spoke, every head in the room would turn. He had that rich silky tone, allowing him to speak as though he controlled the world - which she supposed he did, in the broadest sense of the word. The room was large enough to house an entire army and then some, but today it held only a few special figures - those that would leave the room thinking only of their vow of silence, and those that would leave without a breath left to speak the truth.

Instead of focussing on the few within the room, eyes betraying the exhaustion hidden in his figure, the Emperor addressed the most important viewers - the people. A small device hovered mere breaths from his nose, letting out a small, irritating noise akin to a dying mouse beneath the claws of a house cat. "As you are no doubt already aware, I-" The Emperor paused, perhaps for effect. Any suspense he might have wished to achieve was quickly diminished when he instead let out a sickly cough, spluttering against his forearm. He regained himself quickly, much to the surprise of many who had begun timid steps in his direction. The lines of his face doubled as his mouth pulled up into a grim smile though his eyes shone with unspoken humour. "I am dying."

Seconds pulled into minutes and the silence was stifling. It was somewhat eerie, the way he stood so still, calm with his declaration of death as though he was merely spouting the title of the most recent news.

"Over the last month, the Confederation and I have overseen the gatherings of those lucky enough to be selected to take my place. Today shall be the day we express our gratitude to all those that have participated, and especially those that have made it this far." He spread his arms out wide, his smile faltering ever so slightly, and the small device twisted mid-air in a stuttering movement until it faced them.

The unwilling participants.

Dressed in the vibrant colours of their shade, denoting their place in society, the final 3 participants stood strong against the unseen gazes of the masses. They'd survived the onslaught and balanced precariously on top for some time, but now the expanse beneath them was set to crumble - leaving only one of them in the wake of its destruction.

"The men and women here tonight have proven themselves beyond comprehension, engaging in tasks beyond one's wildest dreams! You have seen them, and you have fallen for each of them in your own way. Tonight, the Algorithm decides who shall take my place upon this throne." He made it seem as though this were a common, unimportant choice - as though lives did not depend on this single decision made by a creature of unknown origins - if they were even to believe the Algorithm was human at all.

Unexposed to her inner thoughts, the Emperor continued as though nothing were amiss. The looming shadows of the Sentinels standing guard, their faces forever hidden behind the blank masks of their organisation, suggested otherwise. "Please, if you have not already done so - send in your votes now! The wishes of the many will affect the Algorithm, and you may be the voter that sways this occasion in your favour!"

Music blared through the speakers hidden throughout the throne room, a solace tune that would plague every city, perfectly in time with one another. To say that it was not considered chilling would be a lie Willow could not afford. Rather than allowing the tune to create the haze it demanded within her mind, Willow tilted her head to the side in search of a distraction. The world offered a quick reprise in the form of her partner-in-crime, Juniper.

Eyes like cinnamon cream, flecks the same shade as the woodland path they would walk on the outskirts of the city, she was beautiful. It was the only thing that could penetrate the fear dwelling in the depths of her mind, casting it aside as though it had no place standing near these new, keener thoughts. The cotton blue of her dress only made her features more dazzling; the small button nose, the large doe eyes... that dazzling smile that melted Willow's heart every step of the way.

She didn't smile now though, Willow noted with more than a few hints of sadness. Her eyes were cold and set on the throne before her, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Willow wished she could read her friend's mind - or better yet, merely reach out towards her - but she knew the attention this would bring. Attention neither of them could afford to entertain.

"Your voices have been heard!" Her head snapped to the side quick enough that she wondered if she might suffer whiplash, a dull ache burning in the base of her neck. The Emperor was back on the feet that seemed to struggle beneath his weight, the throne long forgotten and arms spread wide once more in welcome. She had not given thought of his previous movements, yet now the exhaustion - and more so the dustings of displeasure shaking through timid limbs - was all too present.

"It is time -" The music stopped all at once, leaving a looming, ominous silence in its wake.

This was it... the most important moment of their lives.

"To choose my successor."