text: First time poster here! I wrote this as part of an English exercise. There was a word count limitation on the project but this is what I came up with. :::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::: Royal purple curtains shone like pillars of vibrancy against a grim, windswept sky. The Prince’s room was like this much of the time; an oasis of color in a grey desert. In the distance, a line of orange illuminated the horizon. In it a thousand silhouettes danced and sang, each day growing larger, closer. Ten years ago the sky would have been blue, before the ash blotted out the sky the way black poison clots blood. The Prince woke up to his greatest fear, the terror that had haunted his living days for sixteen years. The great crimson beast lingered over his bed, its unblinking black eyes gazing lifelessly down at his cloudy blue ones. If it had been moving, it would have scuttled around on eight spindly legs. But the true terror of the beast was in its massive claws, which extended nearly to the edge of the Prince’s bed. The bright red extremities had many times assaulted him, each time nearly snipping his body before, with a final strike, his head was severed and it rolled back into the land of consciousness. The Prince had pressed himself against the side of his bed opposite the great beast and it seemed almost inevitable that the monster would finally claim his life, when his door was swung open. In his open doorway stood his most esteemed servant, a look of concern on her face. The servant went about her duties, assisting the Prince and he hesitantly let himself be cleaned and dressed, his eyes fixed on the unmoving crimson beast. As he was ushered out of his room, he glanced back, the monster still standing, its beady eyes staring unwaveringly at him. The council regarding the Prince’s economy was found by him to be a bore. The economy was in ruin, and the Prince lounged lazily as his advisors quarreled over lost odds. The council broke and the Prince went to go rest as he was brought his supper, the idea of his flaming pursuer ever lingering in his mind. When his council reconvened, this time to discuss the war with the North, thoughts of the crimson beast would not exit the Prince’s mind. One particular general made an unnecessary fuss over the Prince and the loss of an army due to his inaction. The stout, old man was carted off to be shot by his own soldiers and the council was dismissed. The servant returned the Prince back to his bed chambers, his majesty hesitating to enter as if he anticipated some sort of eldritch horror waiting for him. She pushed the door open, revealing to the Prince his freshly made bed. The Prince stopped for a moment, his eyes fixed on a spot on his wall. The servant followed his eyes to one of the stained glass murals. A massive lobster was the focus in a beautiful, underwater scene. Understanding the young Prince’s fright, she took his hand and offered him some soothing words. “Don’t worry great Prince, you’ll be safe here. That lobster isn’t real.” The Prince calmly dismissed her, setting himself into his bed with an aura of newfound confidence. He was a great prince, he was safe there, and lobsters were not real.