So, little prince. The poison should have sunk deeply within you by now, your breath coming slower and slower within your throat, your blood not moving through your veins with enough force to sustain life.
No smirking now, the elf stilled the smile forming around the thin lips carefully, despite the exuberant joy racing through the dark-haired elf's very being, flashing happily in eyes that held no light.
What is death like? Your mother tasted it before you, oddly enough, considering the situations you've put yourself in. But no longer. You, weakling prince, are hereby declared dead. Pleasant dreams… for me.