God Save The Queen

April 23, 2013
By _BRoKeN-777, Sandiego, California
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_BRoKeN-777, Sandiego, California
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Favorite Quote:
"The problem with the world is that too many smart people are insecure, and too many stupid people are over confident"-anonymous


God Save the Queen

CHAPTER ONE
Today is my debut to the queen. The Queen of Cantarella to be exact. The queen of mystery and terror , the queen who has secretly beheaded three noblemen in only two weeks ago, the queen who is a part of a secret black magic circle mysteriously known by only unprecedented magicians. Lastly,the queen who hired me to be her spymaster during her reign. The queen whom asks me to do things of such an inhuman and unholy nature, I swear even my grotesque family ancestry does little to compare to her monstrous and repulsive tasks. As one may imagine, I’m slightly dazed and in a depth of anxiety at my current situation. I work hand in hand with the queen, and yet it is infrequent that I have any socialization other than requests or tasks that are only distributed to me by mouth of servant or written letters by the queen. In a very simplified aspect, this will be my first technical social meeting with the queen. Though most would be thrilled to meet the wealthy mysterious beauty, I am not, contrarily. I detest the queen, and those who adore her. For I believe she is but the most vile and disgusting human being I have ever dealt with, and considering my occupation, that is stating something. Being a spy, and being one of the best at that, concludes that I have a wide range of knowledge about the vileness of human society. And allow me to say that she is but the highest participant in this vile world. However, I am loyal to my own country, and abhor treason, though it’s not uncommon among us Cantarrellian spies, considering our monarch.
I sigh, and groggily arise from my living room sofa. For the past couple hours I have been intently working on a plot to overthrow one of the notoriously known nobles, of whom is not only the filth of society, but twists the peoples arrogance and oblivious minds against themselves in order for them to believe in his blasphemous plans of corruption and mutiny. Though these plans only benefit his own greedy being. A good dose of Asian poison to his veins administered by one of my best spies in sleep should be adequate enough.
I silently slip through the halls of my home; a gothic styled Hold which houses me, three butlers, and fifteen of my closest associates. It sits on a large, and deserted mountain, of which overlooks the eastern part of north Cantarella. The land is similar of what I hear of Britain, with rolling hillsides and lush deep forests. The winter is of my liking, with enough cold weather and snow to suit me perfectly, for I abhor areas of which no ice penetrates its domain. I believe there is ice and coldness everywhere one may look, in one way or another. I drift into my study, overlooking my gear, and establishing its condition, for the queen shall likely ask for me to be in uniform, though she personally detests it.
See, the queen believes women are tools which can only gain rank in society through deception, patience, and beauty. I would beg to disagree. She asked I wear the in- style dark corsets and ridiculous dresses, of which expose far too much to the eye for my taste, and would be completely ridiculous to even think about spying around in. I, against her choice, prefer the waistcoats and long cloaks, paired with leather riding trousers and tailcoats. My fellow associates, whom are all women, seem to prefer the same, except for a handful. She also appears to abhor my dark red hair, in which she acclaims is unnatural, and should be dyed an inked black. Though I do have a fondness for the dark color, (and almost all of my clothing are in that color), I will not do such a ridiculous thing. I silently chuckle, and replace my daggers into the appropriate case. I search around the room, making sure everything is where it should rightfully be placed. I affirm this, and silently leave the ash painted room, of which this color dominates most of the house besides the color white, or black. The more vibrant colors are too eccentric for my taste, and are unsettling to me. They leave the eye to believe in a fake inspiration of happiness, of which does not exist in this house. Only calm, silent, peace. Not of the chaotic, drunken nobles who know nothing of patience and peace of mind.
I slip into my own bedchamber, and silently prepare for my debut. She will expect me to dress in my most honorable uniform, which is her word for the most fancy, and eccentric. I curve my lips into a grin, and grab of the likes which she will detest. I swiftly pull out an ink black tail coat, along with It’s matching Black top hat, which I have fitted with a bouquet of crimson roses, my Family’s signature mark. I finish the outfit with my crimson embroidered waistcoat, armored riding trousers, with a pair of crimson embroidered and shined riding boots. I part my hair to far right, so my hair cascades in deep red tendrils down the right side of my face, so as I may partially hide my Ink black right eye. I shake the thought of what she’ll say, for she expects me to cover the eye up. However, I refuse, for this is when I show the queen who I am. And this is who I am. I quickly grab a rose for my tailcoat pocket, but its cut to pieces when I realize that I grabbed it with my left hand. I silently curse myself for being so clumsy.
You see, I have no left arm, for it was amputated when I was a small child. Many of the nobles besides my kind- hearted parents thought I was the laughing stock at the time, and laughed over the possibility of me being a fourteenth world wonder. The queen, whom heard of this, offered to repair my arm with her own black magic, for any surgical procedure was impossible, and magic was my only option.
Foolishly, I agreed. I remember waiting for her magician’s call, and suddenly, everything fading to an inking blackness. When I awoke, I was in my bed chamber, with this horrifying mechanical terror on my left shoulder. It starts at the base of my shoulder, with leather and titanium fastenings and belts, then trails down with a cylindrical and intricately embroidered hydraulic upper arm, down to a fore arm that at the base of my wrist, turns into a golden plated hand. Many would find this to be an extraordinary work of art, and would take it as a prized honor from the queen. I on the other hand, take it as a severe and cruel joke of insult. Many would ponder as to why. This is your answer: for at the base of the realistic mechanical hand, are grotesque titanium claws that extend for fifteen inches. It’s a hideous masterpiece, and a cruel joke that has insulted my whole family. My family never forgave the queen after that, and though I am bound by tradition and loyalty to my country, I detest our monarch with a vengeance that very few people can par. Even the peasants I see starving do not have a trace amount to my hate towards the queen.
I try again to grab a rose with my left “hand”, though again, it is cut to shreds. I laugh, for one would think a twenty year old woman would be able to nimbly pick up a rose. I try again, this time with my right. I slide it inside my tailcoat pocket, and I fleetingly remind myself how lucky I am to have at least one human arm. I proceed to glance at the foyer clock, and see that I must be on my way. The capital is not far from here, though it is about half a day’s ride through the countryside. I grab my most elaborate matching cloak, and head out of my home to the chilling cold which I adore. The sky is clear, and the snow covers the ground in a beautiful white blanket. I see one of my head butlers working on the front garden, and I kindly ask her to shovel some of the snow into sculptures. She kindly accepts the request, and carries on with her task. Soft snow like this is very useful for making wonderful ice sculptures which my acquainted butler loves to make, and which I find to be quite beautiful and amazing. It’s one of the few things in which my claws can artistically inscribe details into without breaking the work of art.
I hurry to the stable, and find Luna, my own steed. She has a coat of pure black, and eyes of a luminescent blue. She’s not extremely fast but suites my needs well enough. For a horse she oddly makes very little noise, even while galloping. I hoist myself up onto the saddle, and steady the reigns before relaxing into the saddle and urging her forward by nudging my boot heels into her sides. She starts at a light pace, and quickly changes to a fast- paced trot. I do not urge her to gallop, for it is only early afternoon, and the queen does not expect my arrival until dusk, therefore, I see no point in over working my horse. I simply hold the reigns, and enjoy the ride.

Chapter Two

I travel down the steep slope that leads down the mountain, and take in the sight of the scene around me. Again, the land is very beautiful, with many large oak trees now frosted, and foliage that was once overpowering the forest. Flowers such as roses and other high mountain flowers used to grow; until winter came through. They will of course come again once spring arrives. I make my way down the path, to the main road and head south east. This path is grown with an alley of oak trees, which make the path look like an unending road of white snow and forestry. The feeling has always unsettled me, even from a very young age. Even when I was a young child I was suspicious of this land, and to this day I can’t shake the feeling of its underlying dark past. Today Cantarella is a major trade center, and is known for its various universities and markets. However, despite its obvious wealth and richness, the common people starve it seems, unendingly. I cringe. The commoners uphold society, and in doing so, they are forced to pay the queen’s ridiculous taxes, which overburden most. When I was small, things were better. More people had food, and everyone was happy. Then, the queen took power, and now, starvation and crime wrecks most of the country side villages.

Of course being spy master, I deal with the perpetrators of crime. I mostly work in tandem with the country guard, but they still are suspicious of my behavior. They believe I have an ulterior motive besides helping and protecting the people, though this is a false accusation. Contradictory to what many think, I work for the people, not for the queen. I protect against secret plots of invasion from other countries, I assassinate head thieve commanders, and I often employ professors to teach the common people certain skills. Of course, some things are assigned to me by the queen, like assassinations and invasion schemes, but more often than not, I go on quests to benefit the people on my own accord. This, of course, infuriates the queen dramatically. She enquires that money and my time should be spent doing other enquiries, like her desire for me to plan and assassinations just so she can rule by herself. That would result in an ultimate tyrannical government, considering her harsh and cruel ways and methods.

I sigh, and slowly shake out of the haze that has clouded my mind. It’s nearing evening, and I can see the looming capital gates. Though people flock through these gates in floods, they are unsettling and unwelcoming, with large stone gargoyles, and unsettling statues of past rulers whom seem to hold unsettling expressions. I pass through the large stone gates into the market place, where vendors of all sorts gather to sell their goods. The marketplace goes on for what appears two blocks, and then stretches into shops for blocks in all directions. In about in the middle of the city is the capitol castle, which is the most oppressive structure in the city, and looms at a height greater than any cathedral or castle I have ever previously seen. Behind the castle are the numerous factories and mines, which stretch on for more than one hundred miles away from the city. As I casually gallop to the inner sanctum of this metropolis, I can already see the quick suspicious glances people throw my way. Most of the noble city dwellers find me threatening because of my obvious siding with the commoners, and many urge the queen to have me casted from my position. I snort. The queen is useless without me, and no armed force could ever defeat me. I have weapons no other has, and none of the armies have anything in comparison. The armies are also not meant for fighting me. They aren’t perceptive and light foot, and like most foot soldiers, fall into traps and schemes quite easily.

I finally reach the castle, which is heavily guarded with soldiers and cannons like I expected. An outer wall encases the monolithic building, and I see many towers are embedded in the upper roof of the castle. The castle looks similar to a gothic style cathedral, except it includes many more buildings on the outside, such as barracks, armory, and blacksmith. The towers appear to be connected to the four corners of the outer walls, and four are posted onto the four corners of the castle itself. One large tower spires up towards the sky, and I remember seeing its blurry image miles off before I caught sight of the capitol itself. I head towards the main gate which looms over more oppressively than the first city gate. The five guards to the gate nod at me approvingly, and open up the old stone barricade. I enter swiftly, and am faced with the inner courtyard. The sight is most uneasy to me. Roses of unnatural colors surround the actual castle, and the whole garden stretches for what appears to be a mile before the actual castle is reached. Many floral sculptures surround the castle, all in different colors and flowers, and in simple foliage. Soldiers again give me suspicious looks, and I bluntly give them stern glance, silently commanding them to leave me alone. I quickly gallop to the castle and up the stone steps, where I dismount and hand my horse over to one of the servants, who I thank kindly. I approach the main entrance where two guards ask me my business to the queen. I give a stern reply of my name, and the door is opened a little more quickly than one would have anticipated.

The guards tend to fear me and my army of spies, mostly because we are known to be both merciless and slightly grotesque, given our ways of extracting information by torture. I Pass through, and I am greeted by the head butler who directs me to the throne room. I am amazed at the elaborate decorations which manifest the castle, for there are more scented candles and fine rugs and furs than I would have imagined. It seems that the whole foyer is filled with expensive weapons and many valuable trade items, no doubt for the queen to show off her power and wealth. The color red and black seem to dominate most of the castle though, which is not uncommon in most houses these days. I walk stiffly behind the butler, who leads me through a large hallway filled with the many portraits of past rulers and members of office. It does not surprise me that I do not find me portrait in sight. She probably found it to be to obstructive to house the portrait of a rebellious spy. We come to a pair of large oak double doors, and they open with a groan that I cringe at. The butler announces my presence, and I enter a large columned building, with nothing but black and red as the predominant colors of the room. Candles of great heights are lit everywhere, and as I glance up the crimson rug that stretches the one hundred feet between me and the queen. She sits on a throne of skulls, and drinks from a goblet of a golden skull. This does not surprise me. I never falter a step, and my face is expressionless. I walk silently to the steps that rise to the throne, and kneel before her.

“My Queen,” I respectfully utter.

She waves from her reclined position to the servant, who hurriedly closes the double doors, and I can hear his hurried steps receding from the other side of the door. The queen takes a long draught from the skull, and the wine reminds me of blood. She glances at me, and almost lazily replies, “Rise.”

I swiftly do, and deftly meet her gaze. She wears a sly expression, and I skillfully remain expressionless. I stand before her, trying to dissect her expression.

“This is what you decide to wear for your Debut? How revolting of you to wear those dreary clothes. And for the love of god, please cover up that atrocious eye! Do you have any idea of how repulsive it is?”

I arch a studded eyebrow, and for a fleeting second I feel my blood boil. “Is black and crimson red not this year’s color my queen? I would think because of it my eye would be quite a lovely fashion statement to that wouldn’t you agree?”

She snorts. “As if that atrocious part of yourself could ever be considered fashionable! It’s hideous!”

So is your way of running this bloody country! My inner mind screamed, yet I bit back my tongue. This is not how one solves an argument. One must pose a solution to such volatile discussions like this current one. I calm myself and proceed to talk in my usual calm speech. “I came here for my debut. The Debut ceremony is held to expose a person’s true identity in this kingdom. This is my identity. A spy master of age twenty, whom prefers honorable uniforms rather than the vulgar fashion of today’s society, and whom was born with this ink black eye. This is who I am, my queen, and I will never over my dead body degrade myself to society’s image.” At this, the queen laughed.

“You would rather die than submit to my rule?

I gritted my teeth, and spoke in a voice of a harsh utterance, “I would, my queen.” I smirked. She wouldn’t kill me, and cannot. How would she even try? At this remark she threw the skull chalice at my feet, and stood to overlook me. I knew that would strike a nerve.

“You fool! I was right to make you the beast you are with that wicked arm! You blasphemous creation! You should be honored by the fact that you hold such a weapon on you! You should be glad I beheaded your pathetic and repulsive family!”

A tear of complete anger made its way down my face, and slid down my neck. I was silent for a while, and gripped my right fist tightly. Finally, I spoke.

“Tis foolish of someone to meddle with fire, for eventually it will burn them, as it will burn you. Tis this fire that I am that will burn you to death, and bring your soul to the dark abyss of hell from whence you came,” I uttered coldly.

At this the queen, furious as she was, roared for the guards and laughed accusingly at me. ”You have sealed your fate, Alice Grim! You will meet the fate that all monsters meet, death!”

As those words left her mouth, I felt myself burn with a fire more deeply than any feeling I have ever felt before, and that I daresay is meant to be felt. My blood boiled like fire, and my right eye seemed to change three shades darker. This wasn’t anger, this was not hate, this was revenge. This feeling and desire to wipe her off this earth over powered me to an extent that I felt engulfed by it. I stepped forward, and stood only one step below her.

“Then my queen so be it, I am wicked, but only to you. To the people I am a keeper of peace, and a guardian of their prosperity. You have haunted this land and plagued my mind with terror and sadness, and I stand it no longer. Your actions and murders are the equivalent of the sentence of death, and as the head of justice, I am obligated to do justice in this land.” I withdrew my claws, and swiftly slashed through her heart.

“You shall cause pain to this land no more.”
She fell back into the throne, and a trickle of black came from her mouth. Not even blood, but such a vile substance as of pure black, which corrupted her heart. She inhaled her last breath, and then, death silently lifted her into it’s arms. I closed her eyes, and headed for the oak doors. There I stopped, and dropped the crimson rose I had been wearing. The guards won’t now its purpose, but the people will. I swiftly headed out what appeared to be a back entrance which led directly to the stables. I grabbed hold of Luna, and with a swift jerk, she began a rapid gallop out of the gates, and out of the capitol. I quickly glanced back at the receding kingdom, an uttered but a single phrase:
“God save the queen.”



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