You were before the King, forced to bear witness to the horrible state he was in. Those faded crimson strips of fabric bound him to that throne, and you dare not pull at them. His shackles were there for a reason, weren't they?

He was resigned. A hand clutching the handle of a club tightened to the point of his knuckles paling. He needn't eyes to know you were there, for your footfalls gave you away. Even so...those violet eyes hidden behind his messy coffee brown bangs and strips of red pierced through and his sharp gaze drank in your form.

This room was going to be your final destination, in its lonely beauty you'd be felled by the King and his weapon. This room of forgotten reds dressing up the man at the forefront of it all. Just like the rest of those who were at your sides, crumpled and battered to death.

However when you expected the brunt of the club, you instead heard the King speak, his voice low and commanding. He demanded your full attention.

"Come closer."