Crown by Reality

Snow White: A Knight. A Slave

Slaves. They tried to run away only to be huddled in the dirt, forced to eat the soil as if they were worm. They’re humans, not slaves whose wrists and ankles still bore the chains of the cold steels shackling them to be forced into submission, chained like a dog, an animal. They were pigs, flock of sheep ready to be slaughtered when the next booming call coming from the Arena Coordinator commands them to be thrown, to survive against the unchained pack of wolves running wild and free in the middle of the arena. Hungry, their canines eager to dig their sharp teeth to any soft, easy tearing of flesh. Their canines dripped with thirst, thirst for meat and blood. Their fur brushed with slick blood, canine teeth and mouth soaked in the slave’s human blood. Their paws trampled the dust as they run in circles, one by one set in an elaborate schemes to lock the little human on the walls of the arena before hopping for the kill as the rip the girl to pieces.

Head were no more, arms and feet laid across the dust as the feral pack of wolves fought greedily for the flesh. Their stomach haven’t eaten for three weeks, anything would suffice and they find no mercy even the children. The wolves paid no attention, taken not a heed to the gut-wrenching screams of their prey, while tears may fall, all in the same they have devoured, licked the tears. Skulls and bones crushed until not a single remains that a merciless feeding spree occurred.

The slaves had been assembled to watch the horrifying scene unfold. Standing gaunt, their head swirling around they could vomit, their eyes widens while their beating heart raced tremendously the longer seconds turned to minutes, minutes turned to hours yet the hours will never become a day for before the sun begins to set on the horizon, their bodies are no more but a food for the pack of wild beasts. One can say that the ones who participated in their death lost control on whatever sanity their minds holds, what movements their bodies will choose to fight or to flee. It does not matter, they were trapped they wished nothing more than a nightmare.

Reality proved them wrong, cruelly. Trapped in the snare of reality, a nightmare would be more pleasing than to have their throats bleed until it turned hoarse, screaming wouldn’t save them no matter what happens. Their nails dug deep to into the steel to no avail, in desperation to escape their impending dread of death looming over them they can almost taste it, their fingernails dug even deeper into each other’s skin, some of them bit into the flesh of their wrists in order to chew them off, painfully they ignored. The depravity of hope led them to a belief it was better to keep on living without hands than to be savagely surrounded to a pack of wolves ready to pounce at the first sight they were thrown in the arena.

Helpless, the last wistful hope left their soul. The slaves were helpless. Some lost their will to live and before they can even be forced to either fight or flee, they killed themselves by bashing their heads to the wall, leaving a splash of blood in their wake. No choice blessed them, all outcomes were the same. Fight impossible, their legs will not move anymore, alive in their body but not the mind. To the ones whose sanity killed at the sight of hell before them needed to be dragged at the center and not a single one of them spoke protest, a scream nor shout dispersed along with their willpower, their hands dead as they too drag into the dirt. The wolves set apart the easy-kill and what flees, to fight or both.

As a man, he was led down the dark walls to the place where the Queen of the Schneewhitten Kingdom built an orchestra of herself. The harmony of screams from both the young and old, girls and women alike, the men and boys. It pained for him to think that a family would be considered to sing for the heartless before the Godless woman, he doesn’t know if fear and anger can intermingle together, fought in a surge of clashing earth against water but one thing he’s certain of.  The truth was inevitable, the truth hits him.

“I am going to die.”

He uttered under his breath, almost a bliss after a months of paranoia spent in the filthy hell he calls the Queen’s dungeons, slowly being brandished to brokenness until before long the aspect of death appeals to him each day to the point where it felt heaven. It was all he dared he can hope for, if he cannot escape from the impenetrable prison bars in the middle of nowhere, death was a release he considers each sun it rose, each moon shined it glow.

What kind of sick, demented, twisted the Queen of Schneewhitten Kingdom thinks when she sends mothers to their death leaving her children with no mother, fathers leaving their wives widows and children orphaned, children filed with innocence, without a sin. He gritted his teeth, he was sure wrath made its wake to his eyes. Every step he takes echoes around the stone walls, every step reminds him how dread steps ever closer, he gritted his teeth in frustration coiling around him while the light from the entrance to the arena closing in.

Her laughter echoes, he hears her laugh. What a cruel, cold cackling of thunder that would froze the weaklings in spots, all hope draining fast, from there on she inflicted fear clawing, cutting through their bodies. She controls them and she hasn’t even used any Dark Magic. That kind of despair as children cried, weeping while gentle hands covered their ears from the barks of plundering human-eating wolves, his hands rolled into fists. They should be nursing their children, not throwing them into the gates of death! Pregnant women should be far nowhere from this hellhole.

Tragedy? These games of withstanding the doom of knowing how utterly useless, helpless than a babe. He wants to scream at the top of his lungs, to scream profanity in front of the Queen in the face of death, he did not expect that he would do so much to struggle against the firm hands holding his arms, the strange strength that he kept hidden exploded to a bright flash of light. A surge of energy explodes rending the stumbling stone walls to crumble against his feet.

Sunlight slipped in, then out in the open the concentrated beam of light hit across his eyes. His left eye scarred with golden shade than the bars of gold inside the Royal Chambers of the hellish woman that’s supposed to be covered in a dark eyepatch but the days of Knighthood left his grace and such privilege unaccountable to his days of slavery, the other right did not share the same shade of accursed color, instead they were green than the green envy of the hellish woman.

The arena fell into a crumbling silence, destroyed with fire engulfing in flames then… 

The crowds screamed, fleeing away from the grasps of death. Both the commoners as well as the slaves. Wolves buried with the rocks and stones beneath his feet.In the midst of the chaos ensued, his eyes looked up to meet the angered, scorching hot fire of blackened eyes of the Queen.

"And so the Knight of the White Kingdom," the snakes hisses but all the man can only be recoiled was not out of the creeping fear. No, it was just as intense as any other. Sharper than the sword he used once for the glory of the Kingdom he swore to protect. "appears to my sight, how annoying and you scum..."

"It would be annoying really, to have Snow White plans come into fruition is it not?" 

It took a random moment before a specific time came to an explosion of fire, nobody knows what happened, how the flames engulfed everything in sight began inside as well as the outside of hellish arena where the Queen throws every men and women without batting an eye yet the it was clear from the survivors that everything that once has been stood, what had begun before became nothing but rubbish, ruins in place, rumbling and stumbling rocks with fading scarred coals, an only waking gesture that fire fumes whipping through the highs walls in wrathful. What remained were the olden bricks of the wall that still stands now reduced to more than a less of a quarter of a standing ovation of glory to a departed soul of the dead.

They were as blackened ashes winds carried in the air. The Beauty of the arena, white as the pure marbled, milk celling above the palace extinguished into nothing more than a den of ashen bare. Now, the slave can now rightfully say that the former glory left the place, all the marvelous praises of interiors decorating the walls were left to crackle like coals. The life of the place killed at the scene of the burning walls. Life extinguished. Blackened to the core, bringing forth the ruins into the arena.

The former Knight stood in the midst of ugly, scorching heat on his bronze brown skin in contrast of the jagged low ridges of the wall that any moment by now would fall, back into the dark ashes it laid barren on the ground. His hands covered in one scar, a single white pale silver across his palm came in contact with the darkened ashes on the ground which no doubt he caused the havoc of fire. The scarred hands he contemplated to this very day whether to feel it as a curse or a blessing but it would seem the latter won over him this time seeing that it’s only right to destroy what was undeserving to stand in its foundation. His hands touched the ashes of what had been, his eyes that doesn’t share the same color stared together, why? Even he wasn’t certain to looked for, the expectations he awaits to come into mind by touching the fine powder yet one thing became certain, the suffocating odor of smoke ashes filled his nostrils, his tongue almost tasted the grief.

For him, Agron never considered to be arrogant nor even less than the title of arrogance. Confidence would be a better word to describe as he looked up to the seething Queen in front of him, at the upper audience seats, to her she deserved the tower of Babel as her seat in this arena labeled her more than the Queen of Schneewhitten Kingdom but rather the reigning woman over burned ruins. Despite the handsomely heroic he faced her, admittedly even she was enamored what a fine man he was, she’s most certain that if he haven’t set her playground to fumes she could have given the former Knight to his former standing in the Kingdom once he step out into the open.

The longer she stood in watch over the audacity he sneered made him the most infuriating creature to provoke her to anger. That sneer, argh! Ugly!

With just one glance around the place, he swings his fingers to a snap, the Queen did not even finished letting out her scream when the explosion is all what it takes to muffle her protests. Agron never felt so alive in years, the fire so vibrantly alive, orange flames blew out around her and spread across the air, devouring what stood in the way. The heat radiating but the former Knight paid no attention, the prickly heat did not penetrate his skin since all his thought screams what a raging inferno and the billowing dark smoke licked the air.

And he was left no more.

A maze of narrowed straight, yet quite a curved streets, from the eagle’s eye it would be a complexity in its own for them to track down the rabbit leaping from one street to another paving white streets, for an apex eagle, perhaps it must not be too hard. Only a stranger would be lost in the heart of the town. The town has not yet laid to hide in the blanket of the night, many were an event that occurred today became the talk of the town.