The Duchess of Belladonna

Atropa Belladonna

Drip, drip, drip.

Sometimes, not many people will approve of the things you do. Sometimes, they can think you're in the wrong. They think you're corrupt, evil, cruel. But they're wrong. The only thing you are is human. Just like Belladonna's duke, Nichol Crystall, the great Slayer of Belladonna's ranks. He always felt as if he had done the righteous thing, as he always had, and as he always would. But, the people weren't happy. They thought his methods were corrupt, cruel, incorrect. Everything he did just wasn't enough.

Drip, drip, drip.

Our waters leak from the pipes, dripping endlessly. Similar to the duke's reign, it felt like it would just go on forever. But everything must come to an end, yes? Eventually, the water of a royal reign must run out. We all expected it, and we all wanted it. However, he could never understand as to why.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

*~*

"Your grace, please hurry this way! They'll be here soon!" A personal guard burst into a regal bedroom. There stood the duke of Belladonna, staring off the balcony. Duke Nichol was an extremely tall man, standing high and proud at a whopping 6'5" tall. His wine coloured cloak seemed to float around him, hiding his fumbling hands as he stared at the crowd gathering underneath him. The candle light danced on his face, making his sapphire coloured eyes glow like honey under the bright sunlight. "Your grace?" The guard asked. "We need to go, now."

"No." His deep voice seemed to echo in the room. "Let them come. I deserve this."

The guard stared at him in shock. "But your grace!" He exclaimed. "They'll kill you! Do you not want to live?"

Duke Nichol was silent for a moment. He turned to the guard, and kneeled. The guard, not knowing what else to do, saluted his duke with all the pride he had. "Sir Laurent. I know my time is up, I've known it well for awhile now. That's why I'm allowing them to take my life. Let them come, Sir Laurent." He rose up once again, and kissed the guard's forehead. "I have one final mission for you. Go out to the Priestix, Grey. Ask them what we must do, and who will take my place. They'll know what to do."

"Your grace, I..." He shook his head. "Are you sure, sir?"

"Positive."

Laurent didn't know what to do. He swore on his whole life to protect the duke, but he was really throwing his life away. Is he supposed to obey the command, or fight with every last breath so the duke may live longer?

He sighed, and bowed. "Yes, your grace. I shall go out now."

Duke Nichol smiled, and lifted up his chin for a more proper kiss. "Thank you. Now, go. They'll be here any second now, just as you said." He turned back away, and sat on the balcony, kicking his legs out for the crowd beneath to see. Laurent blushed one he turned away from him, and bolted out of the palace.

Not much longer afterwards, a crowd of angry people had broke into the bedroom. Wielding their pitchforks, torches, and other equipment for battle, they aimed their weaponry right at the duke's back.

"We've got you now!" A man shouted. "Your reign of tyranny ends here!" The crowd roared out upon the man's calling. However, Duke Nichol did not look back at them. "Have you no fear? We're here to kill you!"

The duke stood on the railing of his balcony, and raised his arms up high. "My people! My reign may be over, but we will still go on strong! I may be gone after you slay me, but soon, the Priestix named Grey shall bring you a new leader! A duke or duchess, whichever the gods deem fit for my placement! Now, so long, and goodnight!" He jumped off the balcony, and into the crowd below.

The crowd cheered upon his death, holding his lifeless body on a pitchfork. Impaled by it's rusty prongs, his blood spilled out to the gravel pavement, where the people ripped and tore him to pieces, distributing his accessories to the poorest of the poor, so they may sell it and finally get something to eat.

As the blue moon rose into the sky upon his death, and his soul leaving his body, the streets were filled with the chanting of freed men. Nichol is no more, and his spirit now wanders the land, awaiting the new leader for him to bless with his royal tongue.

And all the land shall ever know of for the next month, all the streets will ever hear;

"Mighty are us who have been freed by the gods of Atropa Belladonna!"