The soft crunch of dead leaves and bones is all that's heard as I pass through the courtyard. The weeping sun is falling down, stretching her long bloody fingers, painting the sky in mournful patterns as she makes her slow decent. Night is coming to drape her cloak and hid the sorrowful lands. And with no more callings of lively birds, she'll never leave again.

Through the courtyard and pass the bolted gates, I see nothing more than ash and blood sprinkled throughout the land. The crunching ends as I stand still, taking in the scenery. Years have flown by yet time never moved; the same scene of 100 years ago is still perfectly preserved. I've been left alone to choke on relentless grief. My palace, my world, my home, forever scarred, is never to be healed again. Alas, the pain has finally taken hold – shaking fingers grab the rusted butcher's knife. Directing the blood caked blade at my heart, I close my eyes and think again.