"The Events of Margo Alexander"
Chapter One: Life
On the bright sunny day of the third week of the twelfth month of the year ten seventeen was born Margo Alexander; a son of Drago Alexander, the current ruler of Prevo, one of the six major kingdoms in the alter world, which consisted of the obvious Prevo, Valve, Marx, Saint, and the darkest part of the world, Nih. Margo was born as a silent baby, which back then showed that the son was either going to die, or grow up as useless. Prior to reaching the age nine, Margo had shown he is not to be one of battle, but a vivid artist, a bright future in astronomy, and a fancy for numbers. His father did not favor the habits of his first son at all.
The thing about Drago Alexander was that he was a brute, a man that loved land more than he loved himself, his family, and his honor combined. He wanted an heir that would be as ruthless, and unmerciful as him, but alas, Drago had planted his seed in the wrong women at the wrong time. By the time Margo had reached thirteen, his father was at his prime, now owning half of the neighboring kingdom, Valve, and warring constantly with Saint. His mother has been fearful for Drago, eventually attempting to secretly council with the wives of the three trampling kingdoms.
When Drago was informed of her actions, he was not pleased. He called it treason immediately, and without a review of his actions. The execution was to be set on the third week of the twelfth month, the week of the birth of Margo. The best part about this entire situation was that Margo was very unaware, and very clueless.
"Mother, is it true that when I reach the age of father, I can marry any woman I'd like?" A teenage Margo asked his mid-aged mother. Margo and his mother was swinging in a bench swing in the courtyard of the castle, his mother holding a smile that can't be analyzed to be considered real or fiction.
"Why yes, yes you can, my handsome man," complimented the mother. She gave her eyes a close before she continued what she was going to say: "The third week of the twelfth week is coming. You shall be turning fourteen soon." She said, "Don't be like your father and get drunk, and loosen your pantaloons to every street walker you see."
Margo gave off a soft giggle, before leaning his head into the shoulders of his mother. "Mama, I adore you, and honestly more than my father. I've grown scared of him, and I have grown more cautious when I get around him, as if he is going to hurt me." He admitted. What he had said made a very uneasy feeling in the depths of his mother, as she knows that she is going to be far, far away from her son in a day or so.
"You'll be alright, love. You will take the throne soon enough." She mumbled.
Margo wasn't sure if what his mother had just said, and wasn't really phased much by it either. His fear of his own fathers' greed for land wasn't motioned to an easier side. "I'm off to bed, mama, I'll see you tomorrow." He said, getting off of the swing, and inside of his quarters.
"Good night, son. Tomorrow will be a day you will never forget," she mumbled, his face falling into her grip as she gave a slight gasp, attempting to hold back the sobs of the thought of being taken away from her young son. Eventually standing up, mother of Margo had walked into the dungeon, guided by two random guards, and forced into a cell. She sat within the darkness, the mentality of being slain tomorrow radiating in her mind. She had pressed her back against the cold, dusty floors of the dungeon, and closed her eyes.
Chapter two: Death
On the morning of the first day of the third week of the twelfth month, Margo was actually feeling ecstatic, eccentric, all of the above. He was so happy that it was his fourteenth birthday, and that he was going to spend it with his small family. Prior to awakening, he swore that he had heard some noises making way at the courtyard. Was it a party?
"Party? Was this mother and fathers doing?," he thought, before immediately jumping out of his bed, and throwing on a silk sleeved shirt, a pair of pantaloons, and downing a cup of goat milk he didn't finish from the night before hoping to prevent claims of bad breath on his birthday. While scampering down the flight of steps that lead down to the main lounging room, he was stopped half way by a frowning maid.
"Master Alexander, you mustn't go outside at this moment!" She exclaimed towards him, her head bowed. Margo gave a slight tilt of his head, and just laughed.
"Why the long face? It's my birthday," he said, before immediately forcing his way past her, and bursting through the doors that lead to the courtyard with his eyes closed.
"Father! Mothe-"He immediately found himself stunned on the spot. His moment of shouting had led numerous eyes, mostly those of his father's courts glaring at the boy. He noticed something odd. He noticed the guillotine stand, a woman on her knees with her head covered with a cloth and fit snug between the two restraining wood slots, his father who was dressed in all black, same as the woman who was rested at the guillotine, the rope in his father hands, and numerous of people he didn't know.
"M-M-Maarg-go..," muttered the woman who was yet to be revealed to Margo. Margo just looked left and right, before taking a few steps forward, the men surrounding the guillotine moved to their directed sides as they noticed the son of the great king making way. Half-way towards the guillotine, Margo stopped. Margo was feeling a bit curious, whom this lady was.
"Father, who is this woman?" He asked; his voice a little raspy. "Where is mother?" He then took a few steps back, feeling a bit uneasy about the situation. The king just gave a chuckle.
"This woman has betrayed me numerous times, and this shall be the last!" He exclaimed, holding a slightly sadistic look on his face.
"MARGO! RUN!" The figure hollered. Margo had recognized that voice at this point. He immediately fell to his knees, his head towards the ground as he looked at the solid, withered concrete that had been marked vividly by numerous of exotic arts.
"Your mother was a very naughty girl," sneered his father, before gripping the rope that will ruin the life of Margo in a hearts beat. Drago pulled the cloth that covered his mothers face, showing that she had an encouraging smile on her face, as she opened her green optics, she glared at Margo.
"Be a good b-"The sound of the blade of the guillotine smashing down through the neck of her mother ended her lip motions, her voice, and her life all at the same time. Margo's eyes watched in terror as he saw the decapitated skull of his mother rolling over so that it would end up vertically at his knees. Margo immediately used his hands to guide himself back up while scooting back, gasping and panting as he attempted to gain what happened.
"Am I still dreaming? Mother can't be dead... Mommy and papa love each other, right? That's why they got married, right?"
A instant flashback rushed into his mind, a blurry sight of him rocking in his mother's lap as she hummed a soothing melody while rocking him. He looked as if he was the age of six, or five.
"Margo loves mother." A small Margo had said. His mother just smiled, and looked down to him.
"And mother loves her Margo," she responded.
Being drawn back into reality, Margo immediately stood up, his fist clenched as burning eyes of rage, pure emotion as he started to tear up, and partially sobs while hollering out:
"You bastard! You never loved her! You never loved me! You covetous loon!" He called out, before immediately rushing towards his father, his fists clenched. He was immediately lifted upwards by a pair of greatly built guards.
"Your mother went against my wishes and as you were always raised as nothing more but a breast fed baby, and nothing like the king you should be. You will be tossed into my dungeon until you either die, or I grow bored of the people I execute. Then you will be next!" He spat; eventually going mental in laughter.
"My only heir! You could have been one of kings!"