He sat there, high and mighty on his throne, golden crown placed on his head, and a drunken smirk upon his face. He looked at the castle around him. A castle of perfection.

All around him people did as he requested. He snapped his fingers, a thousand different plates of food would be offered. He pointed in one direction; they would all run toward it. He could tell them to commit suicide in front of him, and they’d do it. Gladly.

Any and all who opposed him would face that of his queen. She would act as his mouth. Telling them all off and calling them foolish, then take their words and spread them incorrectly so that all thought the one who opposed was a fool. He ruled with an iron fist, not caring who got injured.

He would order people to do his dirty work. They would call the insults. They would declare the wars; they would attack like beasts. They would feed upon the flesh of their enemy like it was a feast from the gods. And he would join them.

It was never his fault. They would speak for him. They would make sure that he never got injured. They would die for him, but he would not care. If a pawn lay dead in front of him, he would stare it down, and laugh. It didn’t matter to him. Just as long as the job was done, he would sleep just fine. No matter how many died. After all, the end does justify the means, doesn’t it?

This was his haven. This was his home. This was his heaven. He wouldn’t have it any other way.