text: As the emperor entered the throne room for the last time a scene of carnage lay before him. His guards lay on the cold, stone floor, slain as they desperately tried to defend him from his own people. He slowly approached the throne, stained with the blood of his soldiers, and sat down. He knew that the rebels would kill him soon enough. It was that fact which led him back to this room in particular. It seemed to him only fitting that he should die in the place where he had once ruled. Myriad thoughts were running through his head. How had he allowed this to happen? Over the course of just a few weeks, his empire had crumbled beneath him. The men and women over whom he had once ruled had turned against him in the blink of an eye. In an instant, his thoughts were disturbed by a small movement in the shadows, in the far corner of the room. His hand went to his sword and he was about to unsheathe it, but he stopped, partway. “Come out of the shadows rebel,” he commanded in a booming voice. “Face your Emperor with honour.” A young boy, no older than seventeen, stepped out of the shadows. He had a face which would have been quite handsome, were it not for the look of pure hatred which adorned it. “I suppose that you are here to kill me,” remarked the emperor calmly. “You look very relaxed for someone who is about to die,” the boy responded. “I made peace with my fate long ago. Death comes to us all, eventually.” “Why have you not drawn your blade? Are you too weak to even defend yourself?” asked the rebel in a snarl. “Enough blood has already been spilled my boy. I find no delight in death.” the Emperor replied, with a grim smile on his face. “I will kill you!” yelled the rebel, as he rushed forward towards the throne. “And for that I do not blame you.” responded the emperor. “However, before you do, I have one question for you. Why?” “Why?” echoed the rebel with a puzzled look on his face. “Why do you want me dead?” “You have failed your people! Under your rule the people are dying! You feast in your palace while people like my father die because they cannot even afford bread.” The emperor gave the boy a saddened look. “I suppose that you are right. I have failed my people. So, I suppose that it is time for me to pay for what I have done. I am so, so sorry.” The rebel raised his sword and prepared to strike. The sound of a blade piercing through flesh echoed throughout the walls of the chamber. The rebel collapsed, the look on his face no longer one of hatred, but one of shock. The emperor gave a long sigh and then rose from the throne. He turned to look at the dying boy lying on the floor. “I truly am sorry,” he whispered as he wiped away a tear and slowly walked away.