Misty stared out the window of the castle. The ripple of cracked glass was only sign of weakness from the building.

Smoke was carefully wafting it’s way towards her window on the tallest spire. She knew that soon ash would be coating everything she touched. As if she needed a reminder of what she’s done. It would be on the tip of Misty’s mind forever.

Fire. It just keeps catching and catching and catching until a little kid lighting a campfire can turn around just to see a blazing forest.

But Misty was no little kid.

She was the queen.

The queen who watched her city burn without a scratch on her arm. The queen who watched her citizens bow to her only in hopes of filling their hungry stomachs.

Sometimes she would refuse dinner to just see if she could get a glimpse on what it feels like, but no matter how any feasts she refused, she knew she would never feel like one of them. She would never know of the lives of the mud-streaked peasants who search her every word for a double meaning.

Misty blinked tears out of her eyes and took one last look at the blazing flames. In a swift move her jeweled crown was in her hands. Each diamond seemed to reflect the fire like they were the very being of it.

She diverted her gaze and didn’t bother covering her eyes.

Crash!

Shards prickled Misty’s legs but she didn’t care.

She wanted to suffocate just like her people. Have her lungs collapse in the flames and embers lick her body.

But Misty couldn’t.

She had a role to play.

Even if it was a role she couldn’t stand.