A Princess and Her Herd
Once upon a time lived a princess.
This princess loved to twirl her scythes.
She loved to help her parents with the daily harvest.
But most of all, the princess loved to dance with her older brother.
As the herald’s hymn played, the music commandeered their feet in melody. Notes twirling around the harp strings, a harp she built herself, they went onto another side, the other side of reality.
And they were happy.
But happiness always comes with a price, it seems.
They needed more to add to the Herds. They got greedy. Necromancer’s Dichotomy, they were calling it. The mother endorsed it. The father, however, did not. He believed the dead were meant to rest. To have served in our war and then rest forever. But the mother wouldn’t listen to his pleads. She was obsessed with power, the brother was wrangled by her, and the princess? Too naïve to have known what was coming.
The mathematics were incorrect. Instead of a focused blast, the spell spread throughout the kingdom. The oldest to ash, the youngest to bones. I heard it was sanity rending, the pain.
The princess woke up.
“Brother? Where are you?”
Her body felt frail, weak. She hoisted herself up, looked to her side where her brother once sat…
… regicide by dust.
She tried crying.
No sobs, but a rattling wail came out.
It stayed like that, for quite some time. Until she realized what she must do.
Checked on the people.
Gathered the Herd.
And told them a story.
She led them into battle, empowered under the Lord, summoning the horned soldiers to battle aside her.
Some say that she still tells the youngest Herds the same story she did to the first Herd.
And some say that they lived happily ever in the afterlife.
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