The King, with his Queen, performed a waltz in the lone and gloomy throne-room while the kingdom, down there, cried in the pain of misery and agony: a rebel group. King and his Queen spun and spun and spun and spun. Each time with more speed, till their cloaks and gowns bloomed into flowers. The room turned into vibrant flashes of rainbows: azure blue; crimson red; fiery orange and lethal lilac. His whole life flashed before his eyes.

The world was dark; it was cold. It didn't care for the poor; nor did it caress the weak. And it definitely didn't feel any sympathy for the orphan boy, Varos, whose parents died of hunger, who lived under the archway of the bridge with his body cold and lifeless, unlike the revelers in the castle. In that very moment, agitated and ambitious, Varos vowed to change the way of the world, for good, while his stomach growled.

He gathered the "oppressed" in the kingdom, to become the "Robin Hoods" of the society. This insignificant alliance was named 'Prometheus'. Its goal: to steal fire from the aristocrats' stronghold for every child suffering under the bridge. They marched on the great gates. Every step bloody. Every loss worse than the last. Varos broke down the door and watched as his soldiers usurped the throne. The Queen was crying...

Epiphany!

He realized what he had become: he was the darkness, the frigid cold. He cared not for the cold, dying woman on the floor. She was weak. He was strong. And with each tyrant that falls, the very hero who strikes him down rises to become the new tyrant.

Varos came back to the moment when the rebellion broke down the door of the throne room. History repeats itself. It all seemed as if he had seen the scene somewhere else, earlier: the throne and the usurpers, the Queen and her cacophonous cries... He wailed— wailed for the poor little boy who just wanted a piece of bread; whose wishes would've been sufficed by just a warm blanket. Where did it all go wrong?

Comprehension dawned. Power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Forgotten had he that heavy is the head that wears the crown. His eyes then glimmered and he smiled an awfully creepy smile. "You too shall bear the burden of the crown." He said to the leader. Then, mercifully, darkness.

Time flew from winter to summer and winter again. Everything changed: the rebellion leader was now the King and yet, nothing had changed: the King, the Queen and the waltz. They danced through the day and into the night while a new rebellion rose. The throne-room door broke down...

And, just like the cycle of seasons, the cycle of cruelty began anew.

(Words: 462)