"You were innocent once, weren't you? Untainted by the world. Had you always been flithy in this way? Running and wine as if nothing was amiss. Metallic taste lingers on your tongue like a lover's caress despite what has been done. Was it a sin to have done what you have done? If a fuschia could die that easily. The True Empress of the rotten heart of the Empire. Would it be better to run the Empire into the ground and erase what has been done. To massarce all those who dare question your rule? To run with a iron fist? That would make you no better than the iron fist who holds the powers of these systems. Run all you might until you are striken down to the levels that you climbed up from the soil. The corpse pit that you were born in as nothing but the faithless. To have faith is to have something that you believe in. Sweet nothings in your ear as death whispers from steps over your shoulder. Your thinkpan stained fuschia as now your birthright. Your arm restrained by your injuries. What line will you cross now that you haven't been caught?" Probably - enough - of - this - story - on - here - ;^^ - It - isn't - a - happy one > #writing #gore