A web of walls sprawls across an unkempt land. A kingdom. Once beautiful but now aged, disintegrating like a cliff the sea crashes against, making war against the land. So the land is flooded with grief. Once, at the center of the sprawling walls of the kingdom, in a castle at the center, in a throne room sat a king and queen. They were kind and fair as all kings and queens should be. They were called by all in the city below their castle as the sun and the moon. The queen would walk about the reaching maze, even to the farthest edges. She planted flowers, herbs and sculpted vines over the walls. And on her husband watched so lovingly, smiling on every move she made. Every time she kneeled to the ground he would stand beside her and offer his hand to bring her to her feet again. They went together always and should they ever part they greeted one another as though they had been apart for a hundred years. Every night they held one another and every morning they woke with a kiss. The world was warm and happy and spring was always in the soil and life came to everything the sun touched.<br/><br/>But on one night without a moon in the sky a wind blew down from the north, a chill came across the kingdom, blowing down across the city and the castle. It touched so lightly the kingdom and then it was gone again. And while it's icy fingers brushed across the lands it reached and caressed the cheek of the queen. So gently, so softly, and yet it was all it took to plant the seed of death. At first it was treated as nothing but slowly worry creased the brow of the king. His queen shivered. In the sun, in their bed at night. She felt cold... Her laughter turned to coughing, her voice once musical and beautiful now rough and course. The sound echoed through the halls of the castle and through the streets. The kingdom grew silent. The king's hands were ever busy touching her brow, feeling the hot skin. Soon she was confined to the walls of her chambers, no longer free to roam the walls of the labyrinth outside of the city. The king stayed by her side day and night and held tight to her hand to ground her. In the end it was not enough. She closed her eyes as he watched, promised to rest only for a short while. Her brow finally cooled but only with the chill of death. The color went from her cheeks and lips, her hand in his grew stiff. The rise and fall of her chest ceased and then...<br/><br/>They carried her through the streets on their shoulders, all the people wept and wailed for her loss. All except the king. He followed behind the procession and watched as a curl of black satin hair fell over the side of her litter. It swung back and forth like a pendulum as they carried her. All the way to her grave, removed far from the world. There they lay her and, as they came to find out later, they also lay the life of their land. From that day on their kingdom wilted away, crumbling down. The king sat on his throne, looking over his hall. His world died slowly and he sat dying with it. His mind slipped away, far away. He never moved from the castle, his heart, mind and soul lay down in the catacombs with his bride.<br/><br/>His people fell to their own means, some turning on one another stealing and thieving to live. He sat by incapable of helping unti his world was in a state of complete decay.<br/><br/>-------<br/><br/>A young man, no more than twenty three years old by looks wanders around the outskirts of the city. He surveys the vines of ivy that grow unchecked and kicks a rock from an ever dustier ground. He sighs and looks up at the sky. The world is quiet.