King.

I've only lasted a paragraph in this chapter written on attempted forgetting. I try to hold up a mental offence to hold the nearly un-stable ground I flail on. The artifical blockade that strives to protect me from the raging blow is a mighty one. As much as fictional rewinding and a favorable miracle would drop a bomb of peace on this psycological warzone it's all just a big fantasy leading nowhere. A strike of apathetic destruction towards this blackened attack of agony is intendened to grow stronger after every sentence. Am I the one who deserves such a task of lessons and regrets? I don't believe so and prefer the neutrality of satisfaction. According to the north this order will forever be assigned, leaving one choice, avoidance. A chapter and a half later the blockade becomes a barricade with a warrior of acceptance standing guard behind. Never again will this kingdom suffer a massacre of hatred and unfairness. Never again will an expected corpse fall into these hands. Never again.