Today, the winds were even more furious, the leaves were too busy hovering around the palace, the birds hid in their shelters and the ground was as dry as a summery morning in barren deserts; not a single drop of water dared to sprout out of the grey clouds shrouding the blue sky to calm the raging winds and moist the severe drought everyone suffered from for months.

However, the clouds were calm, as calm as Beyrl was when she was silently swallowed in the garden, which was crowded with Yoongi's servants, the servants who longed to nourish their malice by watching someone's life being stolen by an unjust prince, their unjust prince.

Beryl sat on a chair, before which there was a table and a small pot, with a liquefied substance inside, set rigorously in the midst of the elegant silver tray. Beryl sneered under her breath as she carefully studied the expensive utensils that would give her an easy trip to the place awaiting her after death—whether it was heaven or hell.

If I had my note now, mother, I would have written to you that I finally understand why you used to tell me that money and power never mattered—nor having a lover did really because here I am, face to face with my own demise, and nothing feels or seems as dreadful and superior as doom is.

Alas! How much I wish I had listened to you and stayed out of this palace!

A wide smile, revealing her pearl-like teeth, e