Unexpectedly, a fly had entered into a luxurious room. It shrieked cacophonously, looking for a new meal to scavenge. It skittered across the mahogany floor and the marble walls. It flew under the bed, but it found no crumbs. Then it went to the incense candles, enchanted by the aroma. The insect then found a calloused hand. Instinctively, it quickly landed on top of the hard flesh. It rubbed its limbs vigorously, oblivious to the fact that Erise was silently observing the critter from the corner of her eye.

“Interesting,” she said. She then quickly cupped her palms. She slowly constricted the volume inside, coldly observing the victim’s reactions. The fly panicked, furiously colliding with her stone-like skin. Erise felt that even if these hands were killing an infant, she would not feel remorse. Molded by steel and washed with blood, her heart was nowhere to be found.

Eventually, the fly could not move anymore. Erise grinded her palms against each other, but she would often stop halfway to allow it to live. With crumpled wings and fluids leaking out of its crushed body, the little thing twitched helplessly. She then threw the wrangled remains outside of the window. She cooly wiped her hands and began to change.

Erise never allowed others to dress her. Due to the nature of her job, she often donned on her black armor. She did not loathe her fate--in fact, she loved it. She hated wearing feminine attire, as the thin fabric made her feel vulnerable. Her father made her vow to hate weakness, so why did he keep such useless traditions? After she became Queen, she would ban these disgusting clothes from the royal wardrobe.

A hand knocked on the door. “Your highness,” Andrew called. “I have brought Lord Sura.”

“You may enter.”

The loyal knight came in with his head bowed. After making sure that his ruler was in her proper clothes, he relaxed and drew closer. He also cradled Sura in his arms, albeit brusquely.

The expressionless skull groaned in mock pain. “I have a fragile cranium, Sir Andrew,” Sura pleaded, “I beseech you to handle me with more care.”

“Apologies, Lord Sura,” Andrew shrugged, “My muscles can only grow larger.”

“And I can only whine louder,” the skull said.

Erise sighed, “Give him to me. He needs a woman’s touch.”

Sura scoffed. “Your highness, you are not exactly an ideal goddess.”

“How tragic. Enjoy my metal padding, then."

Under the hearth of Erise’s bedroom, a trapdoor led the three to a dark, stone passage. The air was dry, despite the humid weather of summer. Erise was leading with a torch in her right hand and Sura in the other.

Andrew tapped Erise's shoulder. “You know what I love, my Queen?” he asked.

“Save it, soldier."

“A dark, tight passage that may lead to a dead end. What could go wrong? You do remember I am claustrophobic.”

“You need a pat on the back?” Sura mocked.

“Quiet, children,” Erise snapped. “Sura, I know you can sense the entrance. Where is it?”

The skull cackled. “I will tell you if you explain to me why the knight is here.”

Erise raised an eyebrow. “My knight, skeleton. Just like how this castle belongs to me,” she hissed. “Unlike my ancestors, I will not blindly trust you. I am a ruler, not a puppet.”

Silence filled the air. For a moment, a dark aura wrapped around Erise’s body. It was a warning. In response, she gripped the skull and grinded it against the wall, just like the fly. “Do not test me, fallen king,” she warned.

Sura sighed tiredly. “Alright. You have won,” he said. “The entrance is right next to you.” Suddenly, the walls glowed with blue incandescence. It was one of the purest forms of mana, the Living Water. The interlocked stones began to turn, making way to a large chamber inside.

Andrew whistled. “Looks like you aren’t all talk, Lord Sura."

Sura did not answer him. “Lead me inside, child,” he told Erise.

She took him to the center of the room, which held a rectangular plot of land. The earth was brittle, harder than concrete. In the innermost region was an empty ditch. It was not very deep, and a clean corpse laid there. Strangely, no sign of rotting took place. A man in his twenties, black hair and tanned skin. Before dying, he seemed to have suffered violence and disease. Otherwise, he would not have looked so horrifying.

“How does it feel,” Erise teased, “Seeing your real body?”

Sura was hesitant. “I must admit that it's awkward. I have spent decades in this skull, centuries more in others. Is everything prepared?”

“Of course,” Erise answered. “I wonder how Fia will react when she finds out that you are going to eat them all: bones, blood, and flesh. I just can’t wait.”

“I’ve hidden more dire secrets. One more will not make a difference.”

“We will see, fallen king. We will see.” Erise then dropped the skull into the ditch, and the earth rose and swallowed it up.

For the first time in many years, darkness drew over Sura's mind.

It was night, then came morning.

Six days until the coronation.