Henry tosses in his sleep, dreaming about his deeds the night before; cooking boiled duck Feroxi style, the uncountable number of peasants he had choked in the market to get it, his moonlit passionate dance with Olivia, and the way his knife slipped snugly into her skin... He's suddenly awoken by the smell of baking. The Twisted Mind sniffs the air of his tent and sneezes, wiping his face on the itchy blanket. "Eugh, somebody's making that spongy crumpet thingy they had yesterday. I hate those." He says with a sigh. "what's wrong with their tongues? Somebody hex them with bad taste? Oh well, as soon as I find the person responsible I'll be sure to teach them a lesson!" Henry rubs his eyes and tosses the blanket to the other side of the tent. His inner thoughts burned a familiar heat, and with it he smiled menacingly "It's gonna be a great day."

"Breakfast is served everyone." Maribelle says with an arrogant tone, "I exerted a considerable amount of effort into these crumpets and expect you to be grateful! I had to wake up three minutes early for this, I feel exhausted." She yawns, sincerely feeling overworked. "now as soon as you've all finished I expect warm expressions of gratitude from all of you! Understand?" The Shepherds nod, Henry among them. "I'll be sure to thank you as soon as I'm done, miladyshipness." Henry says. Maribelle smiles "There, now isn't that nice? Everyone follow Henry's example please. He's a true gentleman." She turns and stretches, ready to take a long royal nap in her tent. Henry chuckles and gets odd looks from the team.

"I can't wait to dig into these!" he exclaims in glee,

"You can't wait?" Ricken asks, "You didn't even touch the stuff yesterday."

Henry leans in to Ricken's face, noses inches away from each other. "Shhhh... We are the music makers... and we are the dreamers of dreams."

"That doesn't even make sense!" Ricken says, pulling away from him and going back to his own breakfast. Henry chews on the toasted bun buttered gold, it leaked melted butter into his mouth with each bite and made him giggle. It really was better than he expected, but it was no meat. He wanted meat. Soft. Fresh. Tender. Meat. "I'll go 'thank' Maribelle for this, just as soon as I get a few little somethings from the kitchen..." Henry says out loud, putting the second piece into his mouth.

"Maribelle's tent was as posh as you could imagine. It was twice the size of the standard issue, and was decorated with gold tassels, hardly a tent, more like a small castle made of canvas. Henry pulls back the canvas doors and sees Maribelle in a pearl nightgown, brushing the curls out of her hair. "Hey there Mar- I mean, good morrow M'lady." Henry says bowing, Maribelle smiles and curtsies to meet him. "And a good morrow to you too Henry. Uh, why are you dressed in the chef's apron?" "Simple, silly! I want to help you get ready for bed." "Really? How sweet of you darling. A lucky break for me too, my waitstaff recently quit overnight, how foolish! Don't they know they'll fall apart without me?" "Wow! That is dumb!" Henry says, chuckling. "Now sit down and let me help you relax, okay?" Henry invited Maribelle into a chair made of the finest ebony, borrowing her hairbrush. She sat down, folding her hands into her lap, Henry gently picked up a palm-full of her hair and made a slow brushstroke, pushing all of her curled hair out into straight shimmering strands. "You hair's so well kept, it's like you've never worked a day in your life!" He said jokingly, "Well of course. A lady knows her appearance means everything to strangers" Henry smiled and brushed the last curl out of her blonde locks. "Now I'm going to give you a nice shoulder rub to ease you." Henry begins to squeeze and release her shoulders, she closes her eyes and slumps contently in the chair. "Looks like it's doing the trick, you aren't so tense now, you're niiice and... tender." Maribelle smiled "I'll take that as a compliment." "Nya, you should. So soft, and tender, and fresh." Maribelle blushed "Well don't you know how to make a girl feel special."

"But," Henry lets go of her arms, "Do you know what's not so tender and soft? Crumpets. Like breakfast crumpets." Maribelle looks up inquisitively, "Excuse me? I thought you liked my crumpets." "Oh, I did. But for most lil' lowborns, that's not what we want for breakfast." He says. "explain yourself sir." Maribelle orders, looking forward and tapping her shoulders to demand more massages which Henry obliges "Oh, you know us lowborns. We got a lot of work ahead of us. Gotta get some energy in. Something to warm up our muscles, you know?" He let one arm fall from her shoulders and reached into the pocket of his apron, prodding towards the neck muscles to relax them. "We need something with texture. Nice and tough! Something liiiike, meat." Maribelle closes her eyes sleepily and muffles responses. "Mmmmm, meat you say?" "Yeah. Tender, soft, fresh meat. How else could we be out working for you all day? You can have all the crumpets you want, but us worker bees gotta get game in their guts!" He massages her scalp pressing the skin of her head. "Otherwise, it makes us kind of... cranky." "I... I suppose your right darling. Now that you say that, I feel rather selfish. That is selfish of me isn't it?" She lays her head low in shame. Henry grins and pulls her hair away from the back of her neck. "Yes, you certainly are Maribelle, don't worry. I'll be sure to teach you a lesson for it." Out from his pocket comes a shafted tool you would find in any butcher's shop. A heavy, metal mallet with small spikes: A meat tenderizer. He raises it above his head and presses his thumb on the back of Maribelle's neck. Maribelle opens her eyes, responding to the pressure. She turns around. "Ow, ow! Henry That hurts what are you- Aiiiiii!" He swung the hammer down on her porcelain skin, striking her in the temple. She fell unconscious immediately, bleeding from her cranium. She is motionless and silent, but it isn't enough for Henry. He drops to his knees and raises the tenderizer above her once more, chanting between each crash against her shattered skull.

"Soft!"

CRASH!

"Fresh!"

CRASH!

"Tender!"

CRASH!

"MEAT!"

CRASH!

Henry laughs loudly, dropping the mallet down beside the bloodied mess that was once the Dire Damsel. He falls on his back and rolls on the floor like a dog, wiping his red hands on his apron. "Nye he, hehehehehe." He picked up Maribelle's battered corpse and sat it in the ebony chair. He carefully placed the tenderizer in her hand, like her own royal scepter. Henry smiles, engrossed in bloody glee. "Nya... ha... ha...! Bye bye, Maribelle."