If the price of a peace had to be a life, why couldn’t you have died right there by his side?
It was once a tale of two children who wished to change the world, one for himself and the other for his sister — or so they say. A tale of how the two children, once they found one another, realised they could achieve that should they work for it together.
And for that very reason, she sometimes found herself wondering how it all came down to them writing a script for such a play. So it was written that one would die to atone and the other lived all alone.
There was no way they could improvise anything, no — they had to follow the script to a T. Even the tiniest misstep would have cost them everything.
They — the actors for the king and his ever so loyal knight — forced their audience in with them as well, not giving them a choice. They would have to watch it go down from the beginning to the very end, yes, but the audience also had to join the play, becoming unsuspecting actors of the play.
She’d watched the mastermind make himself the main villain while he made her a victim so she could take over the stage once the curtains were opened again. He created a role for his best friend too, so to ensure the ending was good.
When the time to act finally came around, the stage had been prepared perfectly. No one could see it wasn’t something they wanted to do, only something the two of them saw necessary.
Every actor was placed carefully in the scene, each detail planned to perfection. No property was out of place, no mistake was left in sight. And, starring the entire act was her dearest big brother, although it was his best friend, the knight, who was put in the spotlight as the beloved one after masking himself.
But, the play they wrote a script for wasn’t a comedy, a drama, no — it was a tragedy, the cruellest and most sorrowful of them all, just waiting for its time to come true, its time to take its place upon the pages of the fleeting history.
Maybe that was what made all of it so very horrible.
Everything went according to his plans, everything as to create a tragedy.
But beware, before you can see the play in all of its tragic beauty, you must know this — this tragedy of theirs became reality, for in the end, the main role, the focus of all attention, lay dead next to his oh, so beloved sister.
The shocking story of a demon emperor and his knight of betrayal had come to meet its end — the emperor lay dead and the knight was masked, hidden away from even her gaze, never allowed to truly live his life again.
To execute a demon… no, to love a demon, that was needed for the curtains to fall.
Yes, the curtains fell down as the knight, now the saviour and the messiah in black, pierced his beloved emperor’s heart with a sword, the blood that stained the sword of the knight, the robes of the emperor and the hands of the sister becoming their salvation and redemption. They hid the tears of the knight and the screams of the sister, leaving only the glee of the audience visible.
The ending he created was one of freedom and happiness for everyone but those he loved and left behind.
But despite how the world saw the ending, the final act as happy, the sister cried, as the now only one alive to know the truth. She cried for she knew how much pain it caused her brother and his best friend, and she cried because no one else could see that.
Yes, the only ones to know were left behind, weeping, wishing they could have died in his stead, or at least by his side. It was difficult mourning for her dearest one when everyone around her insisted that person was evil to the core. And, what use was it to be alive and free when it was only painful because all she truly was became surrounded by freezing loneliness.
After all, this tragedy wasn’t a play where once it ended the actors could simply stand up and bow to the audience, no — if they were up on the stage in front of the world, they had to give their entire life to it.
And now, she was the only one left to tell the true story behind the act the king and the knight put on, for there was no one else alive to utter even a word of it — but even she couldn’t for if she did, the ending would be ruined.
Oh, so what was the name of this tragedy so forlorn, you ask?
It goes by the name,