Short story
A flame flickers as festivities echo from the hall. The large stone building stands cold, hard, ominous. The red court has gathered to address the issue of witchcraft. The hard wood table sits in the center of the room, the members of the court cheer and engorge themselves on wine and meat. They cheer and celebrate there capture of the fire witch, the room was merry and warm yet cold and hopeless at the same time, the piper pranced around his purple robes floating calmly in the wind, the soft melody of the piper echoes through the room, softly calming the room apart from one section, the kings balcony. The candles flames turn red as an ominous air fills the room as the sound of footsteps rings from the balcony. “bring forth the fire witch” says the head of the court. Chains rattling as the witch is dragged into the center of the hall. She stands with half fear and half pride gazing up at the crimson figure on the balcony. The silhouette stands there with nothing but a menacing red mist surrounding him, he is the king. In a split second the world is flipped on its head, glasses that were full now are empty, knives that were still have now calved the meat without any body knowing how or why, empty bellies are now full and blood runs across the floor. Looking to the middle of the room, the court see the witch now split in two blood dripping from the hand of the king. The room falls silent as the king whispers to the witch, “I would say I’m sorry that I had to do this but I’m quite frankly not, you have a power similar two mine, a power of the gods but unfortunately to preserve my ever lasting high, you must die and with my king crimson you will fall with ease. So now I sentence you to death”. The king rases his hand into the air then slams it down though the witches head, blood spraying everywhere. The witch has been sentenced, and the king is bathed in the crimson liquid cementing his title as the crimson king, Diovalo.
