How had it come to this?
That was the only thought in my mind as I collapse onto my knees, retching up a sickly yellow substance. My vision was blurred and my head throbbed. Gravity seemed to increase that moment as I fell from my knees onto my chest, my long robes collapsing on top of me, under the crushing weight of my spear. My horns made it awkward to lay comfortably on the ground, but, then again, I had never tried laying on the ground-nor my own yellow vomit, on that note-for long enough to figure out how to be comfortable. And moving wasn't much of an option now either.
As I lay there in that garden, I let my eyes wander to a throne covered with a white sheet. I swear, I can almost see some white fur still on top of the sheet. Hers, it must be. I miss her. I need her. I wish she was here now. But would she even help me? Help a murderous, cowardly, pathetic whelp of a king? But it's strange, I can hardly remember her anymore. I hardly remember her name.
The thought dawns on me as gravity seems to even impact the lids on my eyes, slowly closing. If this is my place to die, it's a good place, at least. The peaceful, serenity of my favorite place to be; my own garden. However I can't help but feel sick thinking, even looking at these buttercup flowers that will presumably be my deathbed. I can't help but...blame them. That's silly.
A flower couldn't kill me, now can it?