The child's bloody hands grasped the handle of their sword with a shaky vice-like grip, pointing the tip of the weapon towards the royal in front of them.

The tall, slim woman dressed in all black, like a mourner, with the ruffled black fur on her back was slung over her shoulders. Covering her facial features was this thick white mask, with the lips sealed shut and faint- nearly undetectable- eyeholes were neatly cut into the jet black outlines of the eyes. Her thick, dark umber hair was held up in a large bun by a single silver hairpiece, adorned with obsidian gems.
On other occasions, the woman would've appeared almost civil, a defenceless yet mysterious figure who would never harm anyone.

But there the empress stood, a long silver-bladed katana held in her right hand, extended out like a bird's wing. The angle allowed the crimson liquid dripping down the blade and onto the floors below, creating a small puddle of blood.

The weary, tired eyes of the ten year old raised their gaze to meet the emotionless, cold glare of the royal, and anger once again started to run through the young warrior's veins.

After a long moment of an unrelenting staring competition, the weapon of the empress dropped to the ground with an echoing clank, and the royal suddenly flung herself to her knees at the feet of the young war hero, silently begging for her beloved child to return to her.

It was at that moment that the long, once clean blade of the supposed hero was forced through the woman's mask and worked it's way through her skull, and the bone crushing was audible when the blade came out the other side of her head.