I hold a bloodied knife in my hand.
I laugh madly at the sight of the dead king seated on his throne, throat slit, blood gushing out from the wound and head lolled to the side.
Finally.
His crown drops and rolls gracefully to my feet.
I pick it up and put it on my head, a wicked grin split across my face.
Long live the queen.
YOU ARE READING
Collection Of Dark POVs. Vol. 1
Short Story''Darling, if your looks could kill, this ballroom would suffer a massacre,'' he mutters, the corners of his lips lifting. You smirk. ''Ah, but where's the fun in doing it that way.''
