December 4, 2012•277 words
A man runs to the side of a dying queen…a man who needs her pardon. Would’ve been a game with Dishonored’s aesthetic, but they beat me to it. Book maybe? Or maybe I change the aesthetic...decisions decisions.
He pumped his legs harder than any man his age ever should. No one was getting there before him - no one. Not the queen’s suitors, not her subjects, not her fucking butler. He was going to burst through those double doors and demand his life back.
“MOVE!” he bellowed at a gathering of concerned guards crowding the entrance. He tossed them aside in his haste, their contemptuous roars ringing in his ears. He had enough, he could care less what petty sentence he got for that (which was his third strike, coincidentally). With a mighty kick the doors flew open and he charged through–
And there she was…the queen, bleeding from her hip. His chances drained like that precious life from her body: quickly and beyond recovery. He rushed over to her side, not even Death himself was getting to her first. He could hear the guards calling for backup and some of them follow him in.
She eked out, “Closer, Norm…” and he leaned in. The queen noticed the guards and halted them with a movement. “I know…you’re innocent. You’re–” She coughed up blood as she struggled to speak. “You’re the only…one I trust with this…” She placed a small chain in Norm’s hand, closing it over with hers. “Keep it safe…I need you to kee–”
A slow slip into unconsciousness, a serene smile, and a blank, sincere stare. Those are what the queen left her kingdom.