As a child, power held a certain allure. I dreamed of holding a knife to the world’s throat, making it obey whatever rules I so wish. I never acknowledged the mundanity of it. I didn’t factor the boredom complaining nobles would bring before me.

A man kneels before me whinging like a child. I didn’t hear his name over the churning ocean of agony in my ears. Something about his servants refusing to work. He’s from a minor family, he only achieved an audience because Terrence lay with his wife a while back and further grievances could lead to indecency. My hand itches underneath a leather glove and sweat soaks my clothes.

“-My king, I am demanding permission to punish these lowborn ingrates accordingly.”

It takes a second to register the words. “And what might an according punishment be?”

“Nothing excessive I assure you. Each ingrate will take six lashings and all will be forgiven.”

“And how many of them are there?”

“Seventy-five or so.”

“Four hundred and fifty lashings,” I muse, “and only four royal officers to carry it out.”

“That is correct, my king.”

“It will take some time to dish out all that pain.”

“Most of a day my king but that is of no concern, your officers will be well compensated for their trouble. May I-”

“Six lashings will breed resentment towards the officers more than it will teach a lesson.”

“My king,” the man says clearly exasperated, “I can’t allow such transgressions to go unpunished. They must-”

The man raising his voice sparks a blinding headache. He mentions restitution and blood, the words writhe within my head, twisting and pulsing until all meaning is lost. I rub my face to hide my teary eyes. The screaming monster trapped in my skull cries for violence.

“Of course they should not go unpunished, that is not what I’m suggesting,” I groan, I take my hand away from my face finding the glove stained faintly with blood. “I suggest you gather all these inconveniences, split them into groups of five, give four of each group clubs or maces or something similar. Have those four beat the unarmed man to a pulp.”

“My king, while your idea proves… I lack the means to encourage such violence and-”

“I’ll send ten of my best men to help… encourage them. I assure you that they will not dare strike again after that.”

The man stares at me for a few seconds. “Thank you my king,” he says, the surprise in his voice is almost sweet, like I've given him a present he always wanted.

They won’t like it but they will be grateful for our worst.

I stand alone in front of my mirror, inspecting my hand. Every angle is equally horrible. Every poke, prod and gentle squeeze of soft necrotic flesh inspires great pain. My ears are filled with a vast sea of chaos that churns and throbs. Something reaches across this sea and touches me.

Were we not better than such depravity? A mocking voice echoes within my mind.

“Shut up.”

Or is the working man’s life not as valuable as the physician’s?

“They defied those above them, they will be crushed by those above them.”

The physician insulted us! And we still let him keep his tongue? Where is the justice? Where is the pain?

“Shut up!”

We should hurt him, the horrible thing whispers into my ear, I feel its fucking breath tickle my skin, it smells vaguely of rot and roses. cut him in such horrible ways. We should expose all of his pretty organs. Make his apprentices we watch, have them take notes.

I draw my dagger and whirl around, cutting only air.

So quick to anger, it chuckles taking inhuman glee in my anger. I can sense it, my skin tingles, it's only centimetres away from touching the back of my neck.

I turn again and thrust my knife deep into my mirror, creating a web-like fracture, splintering my reflection into a dozen others.

Be careful of cuts, it chides, a cold, perverse tongue kisses my cheek, I can only catch glimpses of it in broken bits of mirror. Wouldn’t want an infection.

I spin around slash blindly hoping to collide with soft flesh, to feel steel glide through thick layers of muscle, to puncture fragile organs, to be bathed in a warm spray of arterial blood. Instead my knife finds itself embedded in the hard oak of my desk.

Are you quite finished?

“You’re not fucking real,” I groan. “You’re the prologue to insanity!”

Why do you seek us harm if we are no more than delusion?

“I will not let this escalate to the extreme father allowed his madness to.”

Shall you be cutting your throat too? This time the royal suicide will actually be-

“There are men who can excise creatures such as you. Half a dozen saints can-”

You can pay for cheap street tricks if it pleases you. It whispers, the words resonating within my soul. We will still be with you. You can cut off that rotting limb and we will still be with you. You can even try father’s treatment and we will still be with you. We will always be with you. We will always love you.

“You are little fucking nightmares given life by my mind, without me there is no you.”

Do you think so little of us?

“I think arguing with my own head achieves nothing.”

Reject our love and you’ll truly achieve nothing, perverse ice cold tendrils caress the left side of my face, groping the flesh, small branches beginning to enter the ear, forcing past the eardrum, past the membrane and into my brain. Darkness bathes my mind. Thoughts that decent minds do not think. We dream of mass graves, off a world aflame, of hell. A vision of a palace constructed of bone and marble in which unspeakable depravity takes place. A prophecy of our supremacy. A dream in which all strive for our love and we strive for nobody's. We will be beautiful, we will be horrifying, we will be strong.

"-my king!" Someone yells quite loudly behind me. Ryan I think. He sounds quite concerned. The voices are gone and my head feels terribly hollow. I find a rag on my desk and wipe my face. It comes away soaked with red.

"Y-yes," I manage somewhat weakly, keeping my back turned to Ryan.

"I heard great commotion, are you-"

I'm quite fine," quite possibly a lie to myself as well as to him. "Just a… a… an incident you don't have to trouble yourself with."

"My king the mirror-"

"I'm certain you have other duties to attend to, good sir," I cut across him. "If you don't then I permit you to indulge in some vice or another."

"My king there's blood on the-"

"Leave for fucks sake!" I snap.

I hear him scurry away like a scared insect. It's reassuring to know I still hold authority over some things, even if it's only the small things.