Burn the Ashes [DISCONTINUED]

= Ch 18: A Throne of Stone =

Jesse drags me blindly down the hall, his steps as wild and staggered as his pull. A hand shoves me forward. The world lurches; I stumble. Two guards materialize behind me and restrain me; their grips burn my wrists.

"Now, now, prisoners can't just escape like that! So, let's make a compromise. You want a story? I'll give you your story." Jesse's eyes ripple with madness.

And with a snap of his fingers, the golds, reds, blues, and purples of a king's robe billow from his shoulders, cascading down his sides like an ethereal fountain. His head remains bare. A golden light lingers about him, shimmering in the darkness.

"The king is dead, and he listed me as his heir." He strokes his chest with a regal air. "And you, Cado, are attending my coronation."

"What?! No king of Phia would dress like that." I resist the temptation to spit at him, fearing the consequences.

He raises his eyebrows. "Oh?"

"They're more modest. The king's throne is made of stone, and is uncomfortable at every single chance possible." My teeth bite at the air. "The Tablers put stones on it whenever the king steps out of line, so that he is reminded that leadership is a painful life of service and hard work."

"Says who?"

"Says me. This is my story, after all. I made this world! And you don't give a shit about it!" I can't brush the hair from my face. I hang from my elbows, glaring through my matted hair like a wild animal, but every yell is only a whisper.

He laughs. "So you finally have admitted it? Catherine, you're fucking delusional."

"I might be. But you're even worse. You're absolutely insane."

The puppetlike guards tighten their grip.

"No," he booms, "I'll be king! And soon, I'll be your king, too. A righteous, beloved king who's bringing down the hammer of justice on some murderous peasant. Why would anyone argue with that?"

With that, he turns and glides down the hallway. As if he were a boat on water, his robes swish and blur behind him. The echoes of his presence seep into the very stones. Sounds and shapes are too much for my mind to bear. Have I truly lost my mind?

I am dragged along by his shadowy guards. I struggle in vain, limp and powerless. A door opens. Sunlight beams down on us. After being in the dark so long, the light freezes my joints. A crowd cheers, but its image drowns in painful light.

"Good morning, everyone!" Jesse chimes, "All of my lovely citizens!"

Colors and shapes fade into focus. A cardboard-cutout crowd stands on either side of a large aisle. Romanesque columns brace against the arched ceiling, as though holding the weight of the world. At the end stands a small throne, its crude shape hewn from crude stone. Tall, stained glass windows cast an ominous array of reds and oranges onto the room. Among the colors of the sunset, a gray stripe casts me in shade. My eyes drift to the mosaic, only to find the Phian flag cast in glass. Its fiery sunrise surrounds the sword. Instead of a flag, I see a bonfire, and I am the offering. The spartan throne room bleeds before its proud owner and his glorious, shining robe.