There once was a young princess whose father, the king, renounced her in a desperate attempt to save his own ass. Which he did, but at what price? The princess grew beautifully, haughty and unattainable in the most remote tower of the impossibly roomy summer castle of the king. Resenting her father for stealing her youth away, perhaps her entire life, growing to despise and utterly hate him.
Over fifteen years had passed of her confinement. The one room that had been her entire world was closing in on her. Had been for a long time. There were several windows, all of them seriously barred, and one only door. The only door to the outside world.
For security reasons, only her housemaid had been allowed to visit her, bring in her meals and such. The woman hadn't had a sick day in two decades. Until she did. Irresponsibly, or maybe unbeknownstly of the princess' marriageable age, a male servant was sent to take the princess' supper up to the remote tower. The boy could not resist such a wondrous sight, and felt the unrestrainable need of sullying the young girl. He leapt on the princess, his callous -and callused, while we are on the subject- hands reaching for undeserving places. Although it was beneath a princess such as herself to respond to such an attack, her resentment had been piling up and turning into an unstoppable thirst for revenge.
She knew better than this, it is true. Revenge is for fools and madmen. Violence calls for violence and the circle of craziness never stops. She could have had him contained with the snap of a finger, the unfortunate wretch would have been hanged by the balls before dawn. The horny boy was not her father and by no means hurting him would take back all those years. Time was gone and the king wouldn't feel a thing when she pushed his eyes inside his skull until he stopped screaming his lungs out. The princess casted the body aside and walked out the door. No one tried to stop her.
At vindicta bonum vita jucundius ipsa nempe hoc indocti. So they say.
Over fifteen years had passed of her confinement. The one room that had been her entire world was closing in on her. Had been for a long time. There were several windows, all of them seriously barred, and one only door. The only door to the outside world.
For security reasons, only her housemaid had been allowed to visit her, bring in her meals and such. The woman hadn't had a sick day in two decades. Until she did. Irresponsibly, or maybe unbeknownstly of the princess' marriageable age, a male servant was sent to take the princess' supper up to the remote tower. The boy could not resist such a wondrous sight, and felt the unrestrainable need of sullying the young girl. He leapt on the princess, his callous -and callused, while we are on the subject- hands reaching for undeserving places. Although it was beneath a princess such as herself to respond to such an attack, her resentment had been piling up and turning into an unstoppable thirst for revenge.
She knew better than this, it is true. Revenge is for fools and madmen. Violence calls for violence and the circle of craziness never stops. She could have had him contained with the snap of a finger, the unfortunate wretch would have been hanged by the balls before dawn. The horny boy was not her father and by no means hurting him would take back all those years. Time was gone and the king wouldn't feel a thing when she pushed his eyes inside his skull until he stopped screaming his lungs out. The princess casted the body aside and walked out the door. No one tried to stop her.
At vindicta bonum vita jucundius ipsa nempe hoc indocti. So they say.
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