¬ Fashire
The throne was cold beneath me.
I could not move. My hands lay motionless on the armrests and my legs would not shift. Even my spine was locked against the high back of the seat. There were no chains. No restraints.
Yet I could not move at all.
'What is the meaning of this?!'
It didn't take another second to notice how wrong the throne room was.
The pillars stretched too high, vanishing into darkness where the ceiling should have been. Darkness surrounded me on all sides. And some strange light source only shone down on the throne.
Irritation pricked at me.
What sort of childish nightmare was I having? I hadn't even dreamt in years.
My father's throne. The seat I had spent centuries refusing to want, now pressed against my back like a sentence. I did not recall being so bothered about this to the extent it would follow me all the way to my dreams.
Let me guess, my mother was likely going to emerge from the darkness wasn't she?
I let out a low chuckle.
