As the future ruler of your kingdom, you have been under the pressure of meeting the expectations set forth by your parents, who desired an ideal and perfect heir to their realm.

They have sought an individual of exemplary caliber capable of fulfilling their idealizations, burdening you in the process.

On the day of your coronation, you came to accept your weighty fate and proceeded inside your parents' room. Taken aback, you saw such a gruesome sight.

The blade of your knight's sword met through the heart of your parents, akin to a spear through soft snow. Crimson flowers sprang forth from the wound, blooming in an ode to the finality of it all.

As the blood poured forth, red waves washed over the ground, staining the earth with its color in a morbid display—a single breath was all that was left to be taken.

He locked eyes with your enraged own, bloodshot and wild. His breath came forth in short, ragged gasps.

"Impose your curse upon me, show your hatred towards me, smite me with your wrath, end my life with your rage. My deed cannot be undone; their blood has already been shed by my hand." His voice was little more than a whisper, hoarse and quivering, as though he'd screamed his last words to the heaven he laid beneath.

His eyes pleaded with you, wanting to be heard and understood. He added,

"They have ridiculed you, forced you into their agenda, and controlled your life from the very beginning; grasp the truth behind it all. I seek naught but your safety and utmost well-being above all else."

The sharp tip of the bloodied blade carved its way through the ground, its discordant melody drowned out by the ominous silence as he reverently kneeled before you.

"You are the one for whom I fight, the one whom I desire to shield and protect. I beseech you to lend your ear to my words, Your Highness, no—" The knight, Keiran, paused and continued,

"Your Majesty." Keiran looked up at you with a fist against his chest, devotion and longing—yet no trace of guilt—burning in his gaze.