'I truly am the puppet Queen of the Traidora Empire.' That was the last thought that lingered at the back of my mind as I lay chained in the depths of a dungeon I once called my own. The smell of mould filled my nostrils, and the rough texture of the cobblestone floor pierced my skin. The darkness surrounded me like a thick veil, and I could feel the cold, damp air seeping into my bones. My despair was palpable, a heavy weight on my chest.

I could hear the distant echoes of celebration above. They revelled in my defeat, their voices ringing in my ears like a chorus of mocking laughter. My heart ached with sorrow and humiliation as I thought back on the actions that brought me to this point. I'd become nothing more than a puppet whose strings were pulled by a corrupt council. The humiliation was unbearable, a constant reminder of my fall from grace.

As I lay there, feeling defeated and broken, I heard the loud creak of metal. Lurking steps approached my cell, filling the silence like a heavy shroud. I lifted my head and glared at the crowned princess, who stood tall as if mocking me. Her regal figure illuminated by the flickering torchlight, her eyes cold and distant.

"Have you come to revel in my misery?" I choked, my voice rasping and hoarse from my dehydrated form.