The King of Enteque

There I stood, on the balcony where my father had died earlier that day. Like grandfather before him, was hung by the leader of his troop for treason during combat. My mother was standing beside me, drenched in the blood of her son, my brother, who was killed today, for murdering two of his fellow soldiers.

The sun was almost set on the land that I knew. Its bright and golden fire was dieing into dark charcoal. The wind picked up and a chill of Arctic air blasted the back of my neck. My dress was torn and bloodstained. I smelled of death, the death only one could experience if they were there that lonesome night.

He was gone. Burned with the rest of the men that did not obey their orders. The soldiers were already gone, marching off with the leader that murdered his own men. Their torches were the only light in the forest. Their footsteps the only sound in the night. The smell of burning flesh still filled the air as if a cologne that could never be covered. This was his body I was smelling. Only hours ago, this was the man that kissed me before he had fled the palace. My husband.

My life flashed before my eyes. I saw my husband, lying in the bed reading my son a story. I caught a glimpse of our wedding. I saw my mother and father holding me when I was just a child. I was next on the line of people to be executed. For I was the one person Captain Reynolds should have killed. I started the war. I declared the beginning and now I cannot declare the end. Its out of my control. I was that girl who burned that building down, so many years ago. I killed the King of Enteque.