Jarvan Lightshield—the fourth son of his house and crown prince of the Demacian monarchy—wanted to go to bed.
He had been fighting a losing battle amongst the councillors of his assembly who were endlessly arguing the pressures of the opposing nations on the brink of war. Since the dawn had risen in the east, their shouts could be heard from the inner chambers, and now while the moon settled high in the sky, their heated debate was still yet to come to a close.
Noxus had been doing strange things. Scouts had been spotted in neutral territories, draped in black leather with crimson trim and bearing the insignia of the Noxian wings on their shoulders. Vast squadrons of marching patrols had crossed the Howling Marsh and threatened to step over the Demacian border. But—as Jarvan had noted several times—they never did. Their distance was kept, their intentions unapparent.
The king's son had spent many days within the walls of the Demacian council chambers, trying to convince the officials of his parliament that Noxus was not preparing an assault on their people, but with little success. Considering the history that the two countries had, it was not surprising to the young prince that they thought the way they did, but he had hoped the governors would open their minds a little more and not fall back on past prejudices.
Jarvan had concluded his part in the session in the early hours of the morning, stepping out in the faint pale glow of a winter's night. Many previous evenings had gone in a similar fashion until the sun had risen, but the Lightshield son had decided that tonight would not follow in that trend. He left them alone to their passionate exchanges of words and made his way to his bed chambers.
He ascended the stairs with his most trusted guard on his heels. First Lieutenant Feran was dressed in his light armour, the attire usually worn for skirmishing and training. Light leather and ringmail, far less cumbersome than the top-heavy gold plate of the Vanguard. It was uncommon for him still to be in his day dress at this time, but considering the length of the day's events, Jarvan did not find it strange.
'Any progress with the council, your Grace?' Feran asked as they walked.
Jarvan sighed. 'Not as such, Lieutenant. I pray for a day when we all come to a unanimous decision without resorting to shouting at one another,' said Jarvan. His words were drawn and his posture was hunched. 'I will continue to dream.'
'I know, Sir. I don't even think Noxus had anything in their plans concerning us. Probably just some show of power,' Feran said as he came to the door of the prince's chambers. He fumbled with the set of keys on his belt. 'You know how they are. Always trying to show off their principles of strength. Vision, Might and Guile and all that.'
'You seem to know your Noxian culture, Feran,' said Jarvan. 'As for this meaningless debate, I'm not even sure anymore. We'll just have to remain steadfast and protect ourselves.'
They reached his chambers and Jarvan watched as the Lieutenant played with the many keys on the ring, trying several in the lock before bringing them up to the torchlight to inspect them more closely.
'It's the gold one with the sort of dent in the top,' Jarvan said, leaning over to assist the man. Feran continued to fumble as he looked at each key in turn. 'That one,' said Jarvan with a point of his hand.
'Oh, forgive me, your Grace. Long day,' said Feran with a nervous laugh. He pushed the correct key into the keyhole and opened the door. Feran went in with Jarvan trailing behind. Normally the lieutenant would have allowed the prince inside first, but Jarvan was too tired to care.
The prince made straight for the bathroom, intending to have a wash before retiring to his bed and forgetting the day. Feran began to wander, looking upon the surface of the dressers, inspecting the large bed in the centre of the plush room, studying the prince's night table, checking under the bed. Jarvan emerged from his ensuite bathroom, his shirt removed and draped over his shoulder.
'Everything alright, Feran?' he asked, watching the man's odd behaviour. Feran looked up quickly.
'Yes, Sir. Just ensuring your room was clean and that your maids were doing their job. Wouldn't want you to live in squalor, my Lord.'
'I see.'
Jarvan went back to washing, running the tap and splashing some water over his face. Feran continued to speak from his bedroom.
'I would recommend better staff, your Grace. They are not satisfactory,' said Feran's muffled voice. Jarvan could hear more muddling from the adjacent room, sounding as if the lieutenant was going through his drawers.
When Jarvan came to investigate just what the man was up to, he found him with his back turned to the prince, facing towards the one window in the room. He appeared to be staring out into the night.
'Typical,' Feran said. Jarvan only had a view of the rough cut of his brown hair and the back of the soldier's armour. 'Exactly how I expected a poncey Demacian prince to live. Pampered and waited on hand and foot.' Feran's tone had changed. It held to it a certain haughtiness uncommon of the loyal guard. He spat the words and with them, his voice seemed to crack as if he was becoming a young lad once more.
'Excuse me? Feran, are you alright?' the prince asked. Feran did not turn around.
'It truly is appalling how your people worship you like some sort of god. Let me bring you down from your pedestal, boy.'
The words were now not even in Feran's voice. A silky effeminate charm had replaced the soldier's usual gruff, but polite way of speaking. Smooth, coy and alluring, Jarvan knew the voice to mean he had fallen for a trick. A flush spread across his cheeks as he realised his missight.
An aura of purple mist began to gather around the man's body, whirling into a tornado of magenta with flecks of imbued gold. As the magical swirl began to lift its way towards the sky, Feran's figure began to warp as it was revealed under the mass of the arcane glow. Firstly, a pair of gilded high-heeled shoes appeared, replacing the robust military boots. They then led up to slender legs with the left covered by a length of gold-trimmed fabric.
Passing the waistline, a distinctly feminine stomach and hips warped into reality from the mist. Tangled in strands of a form-fitting leotard, a large pair of perfectly sculpted breasts barely contained in their clothing met Jarvan's eyes as the illusionist turned around, her magic falling back to reality.
Jarvan knew the face, the curtains of draping purple hair, the golden eyes complete with sharp pointed tattoos down her cheeks, the mischievous smile revealing pearly white teeth.
Noxus's matron of deception, LeBlanc.
Jarvan was about to shout and call for his King's Guard. He went for the door with intent of bellowing down the hall for them to come and throw this woman in the darkest of the Palace of Dawn's dungeons. Noxus would answer for their spies. But before he had a chance to move, LeBlanc had raised her palm, puffing out her cheeks at his hasty reaction.
'Oh, don't let me stop you. Call for your little toy soldiers to take me away. Drag me with my heels scraping across the floor,' she laughed a girlish giggle. 'But let me ask you this, my little princeling,' she said, strutting over to him. He remained rooted in place as she advanced on him, her golden eyes never leaving his own. She draped an arm around his bare shoulder and whispered in his ear. 'Who do you think you can trust, hm? Feran was a loyal servant, wasn't he? What did he turn out to be?'
She took a step back, unlacing herself from his shoulders. She traced her eyes up and down his muscled form, enjoying the sight of the Demacian prince's bare skin. His chest and abdominals were tight and hard, honed by military drills and combat experience. Scars littered areas of his chest like an artist's brushstrokes on a canvas. Battle hardened, but still in keeping with his handsome, youthful features.
'What is the meaning of this? What do you think you are doing here?' said Jarvan. LeBlanc sighed and idly inspected her manicured nails.
'Practicing my illusions up until a few moments ago. I fear that while my ability to replicate a body in magic is unparalleled, my capability to act the part lets me down. I am a mage after all, not a thespian.'
'I won't let you leave here with whatever information you have spied on,' he said with authority in his tone and his fingers clenching into a fist. 'Noxus will take nothing from us.'
She rolled her eyes, idly twirling a lock of dark hair around a slender finger. 'Cease that, you empty-headed oaf. I have absolutely no interest in discovering how disorganised your little country is. I'm well aware of that already. If that was my intention, I would not have revealed myself to you so easily. I would be half way back to Noxus by now with my arms filled with all the intelligence I could hold and my mind overflowing with your best kept secrets.'
Jarvan breathed heavily and went to grab at the woman, to restrain her and throw her into a cell himself. But as his hands went to take hold of her arms, he found they went straight through her, as if she were only made of light. A trail of gold particles followed his hands as he took hold of nothing but air. The ghost of the woman in front of him smiled cheekily with a wink, before puffing into a cloud of yellow smoke and disappearing entirely.
Jarvan's eyes dashed around in shock. He straightened his back as the same arms were draped around his neck from behind, sinking down his pectorals. He felt her hair tickle his cheek, and her voice sang into his ear once again. 'Tricky, aren't you? Are you sure you know what you are doing, little prince?'
He found the deceiver's games rather unnerving. He would not let her make him powerless while still on Demacian soil. She was in his chambers he reminded himself, she was the vulnerable one here. He tried to hold his resolve. She circled him, coming to stop in front of him once more. He couldn't be sure this version was not another fake.
'Why are you here, witch?' he asked through clenched teeth. LeBlanc's dainty hand came up to cover her mouth in feigned shock.
'Witch? How dare you! I am a practiced and respected sorceress, not an eater of children!' she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Her smile broke back through on her painted lips. Jarvan looked unimpressed. 'I'm here for the same reason you retired to your bedchambers early this evening. To escape from the roaring matches echoing around the council rooms. I tell you, both our nations are a mess of unfounded accusations. I could not stand another day in the halls of the Immortal Bastion, I had to find some escape.'
'So you came here?' Jarvan enquired with a raise of a black-eye brow. 'That makes no sense to me. You knew the exact same situation would meet you here as well, only with the added threat of being discovered.'
'That I did, but perhaps the thought was that here I could exercise my magic in some productive way. I care not for politics, especially not these petty squabbles. I leave that to the men pushing little figures along a map. Here I might be able to confide in someone drowning in diplomacy just like I was, and a little danger is always welcomed.'
LeBlanc began to trail her fingertips up Jarvan's arms, gliding up the pit and falls of his muscled forearm and bicep. She gave a seductive flutter of her purple eyelids and casually nibbled the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth.
Jarvan could not deny that he found the gesture attractive and incredibly appealing. LeBlanc held to her a Noxian level of allure, so vastly different to that of any reserved Demacian woman. The attire that accentuated and flaunted her form and her proud attitude was something he was not accustomed to, but found it set a fire in his stomach.
'What do you think you are doing?' Jarvan asked, though his words did not sound as if he disapproved of any of her advances, more a mischievous flirtatious tone.
'How about you help me forget all the bureaucracy and national regulations and show me a night of fun without prejudices? Or perhaps simply exude your frustrations onto me,' she said as her fingers threatened to wander lower beyond the waistband of his bottoms.
'What are you saying?' he asked with a stutter as he visibly twitched from her movements. She pulled her hand away roughly before frowning at him with a pout.
'Are you an oblivious price?' she chided at his stupid questions. 'I'm asking you in all good graces to bed me with no consequences of our positions and not a word sent back to our superiors. Or if that does not suit your noble Demacian persona…' she leant up into his ear again, draping her arms over his shoulders, 'I'll let you fuck me like you hate me.'
He took the briefest moment to study the wanton glint in her beautiful eyes, flushed with golden fire that silently persuaded him to forget his name and position, drop his clothes and tangle with her in his sheets.
Her eyes shot her seductions his way with another flutter of violet eyelashes as she pulled him towards his bed. 'Lay down Jarvan, and I might persuade you to quicken your decision. Let me show you the possibilities of magic,' she giggled again. He slowly gave in and allowed himself to be pushed backwards, his top half hitting the soft sheets of the side of his bed, while his legs were still touching the floor. She settled down between his parted knees, running an eager hand up and down the inside of his thighs. Her dark cloak pooled around her legs. She kept her mischievous grin spread across her lips, bright eyes never leaving his.
'Show me what a Noxian can do then. If I am to have you in my bed, you better pull your weight,' he said firmly from low in his throat. She seemed to like that. She rose a purple eyebrow as she tucked her fingers his remaining clothes and began to pull them down his muscular legs.
'Of course. Now let me see the tools I have to work with first,' she cooed. The look of surprise as his length was bared to her was coupled with another giggle. 'My my, aren't I lucky.'
Jarvan was more inclined to believe he was the lucky one at this moment. Although, as the deceiver took a hold of his manhood and began to slowly work it in her grip, a flicker of doubt crossed his mind. This was wrong, she was his enemy. What if this was discovered? She was an infamous confidant from the nation that his family had opposed for centuries. What was he doing? If his father ever heard a word of —
The anxious thoughts were quickly silenced as he felt the warmth and wetness of her mouth on him. On her knees, LeBlanc's tongue had traced the length of his cock from shaft to tip and was lingering around the head of him, circling his tip with a swirl of saliva. His head fell back onto the sheet and he let out a deep groan of satisfaction.
She took him fully within her mouth, allowing as much of his cock to be engulfed in the dizzying heat. She began to slide slowly back and forth, the peak of the movement causing his length to tease the entrance to her throat. She did not gag or show any sign of discomfort and expertly sucked at him. Releasing him with a small pop and a smack of her lips she chuckled as she saw him laying back breathlessly on his bed.
'Is this all it takes to defeat you?' she taunted with her hand still gripping his cock. He sat up straight, quickly holding her around the neck as he pressed his mouth to the painted magenta of her lips. Her eyes widened, finding the kiss all but out of his masculine character. She allowed his tongue to mingle with her own, feeling him clumping up some of her dark hair into his hand and clutching her tightly.
'Defeat me?' he said as he broke away from her with a trail still lingering between their lips. 'You'll be the one begging me to finish you before too long.' She smiled at that.
'Is that so?' She tightened her fingers around his throbbing shaft, leaning down and plunging his length deep into her throat. His hand still had not left her head as she worked him deeply in her mouth, tongue swilling over the head and lathering the sides in her spit. His pleasure threatened to overcome him. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to cum down the Noxian's throat. She felt it too as his moans rose and his breaths grew ragged, but before his cock could swell any further, she removed him from the warmth of her mouth and clamped her hand around him. Any sensation of an impending climax was instantly cut off as her nails threatening to dig into the flesh of his member. Her grip was so tight it was painful. He lamented the loss of his orgasm and the chance to cum down this infamous femme's throat, looking up at her with an accusatory bear of his teeth.
'Don't you dare cum so soon, boy,' she growled. 'You have more yet to answer for.'
'And you wouldn't want to leave me unsatisfied,' the same silky voice came again, but this time it was above him, not from the floor. He opened his eyes to find LeBlanc leaning over him, laying casually on her side on his bed. But how had she gotten there so quickly? He looked back down, finding the woman who moments ago been sucking his cock was still on her knees with a mischievous grin on her face at his obvious confusion. He looked quickly between the two bodies now in his room, eyes darting between them.
Two, he thought. Just think of the—
'Possibilities,' she breathed coyly, echoing her words from earlier. Using his bare thighs as support she lifted herself up and straddled him. The other LeBlanc—who he now knew to be a clone—ran her hands over his chest from above, massaging the strong muscles of his chest. The glossy hair reached to the bottom of her feminine jaw, a deep wine colour matching her lipstick. She felt every bit as real as her original, no evidence of foul magic on the surface of her porcelain skin. There was a lust in this new LeBlanc's eyes, different from that of her counter-part. He quickly darted forward, pressing his lips to the deep purple colouring on hers, and holding her around the neck with his hand.
Meanwhile, the original LeBlanc had her knees over either side his groin and began to grind her hips in circles. The pressure on his cock was powerful as it slipped in and out between her legs and he could feel the mould of her sex through the thin material of her leotard. She planted her hands on his chest and gazed down at him, bringing his eyes away from her double and locked them to her own original golden stare.
'Watch closely, princeling,' she purred into his ear. 'And whatever you do…' She took a hold of her dark gilded cloak in one hand and whipped it across her entire body so that for a split second she was completely concealed by the fabric. Before he had a chance to consider what she was doing, the cloak had revealed her again. But now, she was completely naked. '…don't blink.'
His jaw had fallen opened as he ogled every inch of her luscious bare skin. His mind was still lost considering whether his eyes had deceived him, but as he ran his hands up the smoothness of her pink thighs, he knew that this was no illusion. She was warm to the touch and her skin was sleek as silk. No woman he had ever taken to his bed had ever possessed a level of perfection quite like LeBlanc. She sat up straight, pressing the fullness of her round ass onto his painfully erect cock. Bared to him, he felt the hint of moisture from the lips that his length was now caught between. She shifted her weight back, letting his member spring out from beneath her and stand upright. He was as hard as he could be, his manhood silently pleading for satisfaction. She took a hold of him, nuzzling the head against her silky womanhood before settling it inside her.
'Show me what you can do, Demacian,' she said as she let out a strained breath, watching his eyes still washing over her beautiful form. She bit her bottom lip as she sank to the hilt. 'How does it feel?' Jarvan's reply came in the form of a rough moan as his muscles unwound, falling deeply into the pleasure of her tight walls of her core and letting her ride him with passion. 'Not every day you find yourself with the cunt of a Noxian around your cock.'
'You're not dismissed from service, soldier,' the other LeBlanc cooed into his ear. He opened his eyes from the overwhelming lust he had drifted into, finding the clone sat above his head, just as naked as her mistress. A pussy identical to the one his cock was being squeezed by lay a couple of inches from his head, and as she pressed it to his face, forcing his mouth onto her eager folds. Her deceptively strong thighs clamped around his head, as she rubbed herself along the rough wetness of his tongue, grinding along him like he was her own personal toy. The clone moaned as she bucked her hips on his face, taking one of her sculpted breasts and gripping it tightly. He grunted something from underneath her, vibrations from his mouth rubbing along the sensitive skin of her folds.
The original of the two let Jarvan's cock slip from her inner warmth, pushing his muscular body off of the end of the bed so that his head hit the plush royal blue of his pillows. The clone regretfully pulled herself from grinding her slit on over his face and laid over his left side, the original taking his right. Their breasts draped over his obliques, legs tangling with his own. Manicured fingers began to walk their purple nails up his naked torso, toying with him and making him jolt as they grazed certain sensitive spots.
'The prince is ticklish?' the LeBlanc on his left asked.
'As if some Noxian like you could make me twitch,' he replied, gazing into the golden eyes by his side, his arms tucking around both the illusive women's shoulders and holding them tight.
'Rather more than twitching going on down here,' the other said, her hands wandering down to his eager cock that had not lost any of its hardness. The head was dripping with the wetness of it's earlier ploy. A hand came to tease his balls, both gentle and firm as she massaged and rolled them in her soft hands.
'We must have you ready, Jarvan. There's a job for you to complete,' LeBlanc said as she sat up, leaning over his cock and taking it back in her hot mouth for another round of her dexterous tongue. The other came to join, meeting her mistress's movements with delicate licks and nibbles of her own, all the while toying with his balls.
The two LeBlancs fought each other for dominance over his shaft, each running their tongues along either side to meet at his head. They inadvertently met each other's lips with a kiss, his cock caught between them. Two pairs of enrapturing golden eyes looked up at him as the original took him into her throat, while the clone firmly gripped his length.
Sitting on her haunches and pulling her mouth from his member, LeBlanc turned away, giving a wiggle of her sizeable ass as she moved around on the bed. Her cheek hit the softness of the Demacian's bedsheets, still on her knees and sticking her ass up into the air. The clone came to assist, taking a hold of each of her ass cheeks and spreading them to reveal the wetness of her heat between them. Jarvan wasted no time in rising to his knees and joining the clone's hands on her ass.
The clone teased the supple skin of her mistress' rear, spreading the delicate lips of her flower in an undeniable invitation, granting Jarvan all the permission he needed to embed his cock deep in her cunt. As he lined himself to take her, the clone raised a finger.
'You only get to cum when the mistress allows it, understood?' she said. Jarvan nodded dumbly. At this point, with his member barely in contact with her folds, he would have agreed to any conditions, no matter how ridiculous. He would have renounced his claim to the Demacian throne for all he cared.
Before her finger had even had a chance to fall, Jarvan's hands were leaving grooves in LeBlanc's ass as he grabbed her roughly around the middle. His cock found its mark. She groaned as he pushed deep, and deeper again. She took the bedsheets between her teeth and clumped in her grip, stopping her from crying out as his pace increased to near relentlessness. Her thighs were pressed together, tightening her passage and sounding out each meeting of their skin. Each slap of their hips caused a splash of wetness to dribble from her quim, engulfing his length in sticky fluid and lubricating him further to continue his thrusting. If she had any interest in granting him permission to cum, it was not to come yet as only strained gasps and moans left her purple lips.
The clone did a dutiful job of keeping the original LeBlanc's ass wide open as Jarvan ploughed her hard into the bed. Squeaks and creaks rang out from the Prince's bedframe, sweat dribbling down the Lightshield heir's torso. His mark was not far off, though still the permission had not been given. She felt his cock twitch within her. Her head was brought up to turn around and look at him. Her purple hair was a mess and a sly smile lay on her lips.
'A Demacian Prince…waiting…on the mark of a Noxian sorceress,' she breathed in between thrusts. 'The field surely has changed. Do your worst, Jarvan.' She lay back and began to meet his thrusts with renewed vigor, the supple flesh of her wide ass rippling with how powerful his attack was. Finally speaking the words he longed for, he felt the feeling in his cock tighten to a peak, before releasing all that he had deep into her womb. Months of pent up sexual desire rushed to the forefront of the young prince's mind, as her inner walls milked him for all that he had.
Basking in the velvet softness of her core once his seed had been passed, Jarvan regretfully slipped from inside her, a dribble of cum seeping from her reddened lips onto his bedsheets. LeBlanc let out a contented sigh, before her pretty face warped into a deadly grin.
'Perfect.'
The clone clicked her fingers and then disappeared into a puff of incandescent arcane smoke.
Jarvan felt his hands bound into ethereal chains. He struggled, unsure of this was some new layer of sexual play she had in mind, or if now his life lay at stake. LeBlanc sat up, seemingly comfortably enjoying his warmth that sat in her core. A delicate hand rested around her folds, the excess cum tested by her fingertips.
'A worthy specimen. My my, this will serve me well in creating a stable vessel. I was expecting it to be trickier than that to persuade you into offering me a sample of your seed. In the end, you're all the same aren't you? Once the clothes hit the floor, no matter who stands naked before you, the instincts taken over. Stay here, boy.'
The chains grew tighter, a redness spreading around his wrists and ankles. He struggled but found he could not compete with the otherworldly magic that bound him.
'What is the meaning of this?!' he said, his tone steeped in betrayal more than anger. She smiled.
'You thought that I, the matron of the Black Rose and renowned Noxian sorceress would have any interest in you and your pathetic cock? How would I ever get off from being fucked by a filthy Demacian noble playing at the throne? If you believed any of that, you're more of a fool than the dirty peasants that worship you.'
'Noxus will answer for this. Your wicked schemes will not go unanswered, witch,' he said through gritted teeth as she made her way closer to him, until her painted lips lay only a meagre distance from his hot breath. Her tongue traced her lips as she studied the grim expression on his handsome features.
'I believe the time for talk has come to an end. I will not hear any more from you.' With a click of her fingers, his mouth was gagged with more illusive golden magic. He squirmed and whined in his bonds.
'That's better. Now, a souvenir of our night,' she said. Another snap of her fingers set the sheets of his bed into a dance. They warped and weaved briefly in the air before wrapping tightly around Jarvan's form. Round and round the sheets wrapped until the prince was contained in a silken cocoon.
'Perfect,' she said, 'and now that I have a sample of you to work with, I can do exactly as I wish.' With one final click of her slender fingers, Jarvan's eyes shut and his head dropped to his chin. She studied his stillness, as if all the life had left him. 'The first piece in silencing a nation.'
With Jarvan subdued on the bed and fallen into a dreamless stunned slumber, LeBlanc smiled at her work, before strutting across the room and into Jarvan's personal bathroom. Still naked with her purple hair a mess from Jarvan's rough attempts at pleasing her, LeBlanc gazed into the mirror. She briefly toyed with her pale tits, idly rolling her nipples and massaging the flesh. Her fingers slipped down to her navel, dipping again into her folds, finding evidence of Jarvan's climax still within her.
Her golden eyes drifted closed. She reached into her magical reserve at the back of her enlightened mind, mixing the arcane with the seed in her core. She felt her muscles grow rigid as they began to shift and warp with the soul fibre her magic was emulating. She forced her mind to relax as the transformation took over. Illusions were easy, physical reproductions were not.
Her stature grew, lost its femininity and taut muscle began to weave its way around the sinews of her slender arms. Her height increased and her face became drawn with all the years of toil under the banner of a Demacian monarchy. When she opened her eyes once more, it was not LeBlanc of the Black Rose that looked back, but Jarvan the Fourth, of the noble Lightshield house of Demacia's elite. A near perfect replica.
When she raised a hand to tussle the black mane on her new body's head, the vessel moved with her. When she smiled a devilish grin, the vessel joined her.
Dressed in his clothes that littered the bathroom floor, LeBlanc wandered her vessel over to the real man whom she had copied. Asleep and prisoned in his own bedsheets with a gag of ethereal magic over his mouth. A fitting place for him, she decided.
The body was bundled into the grand wardrobe in the room, hidden under layers of clothes and sheets and locked with a key that was then slipped into LeBlanc's pocket.
When she spoke one final sentence to him, it was not the haughty voice of a sorceress that sounded out, but the righteous tone of a Prince.
'Now watch as your precious country rots from within.'