Dirk regards you with silence.

The dungeons of the Condesce’s underwater palace are cold, the air stagnant and stuffy. You stand in front of Dirk’s personal cell, looking down at him blankly.

You can feel the whispers of the Condesce singing in your mind, clawing at the shreds of your sanity left in your broken body. The crown on your head feels heavy as she mocks your old friend. You feel it digging into your skin.

He had dared to lead a rebellion — he had dared to try and save you. He was a fool. Did he not understand you were happy — happy as the heir to the throne? Happy with your family?

The word means nothing to a troll. You both know this. And yet you listen, giving into her words as she snickers in your mind. After all, this is your life now. Who are you to deny her?

A smile crawls to your face as you look down at Dirk’s battered form. It is not your own.