Kingdom of Ash

There was a gate, and a coffin.
She had chosen neither.
She stood in a place that was not a place,
mist wreathing her, and stared at them. Her
choices.
A thumping pounded from within the
coffin, muffled female screams and pleading
rising.
And the gate, the black arch into eternity—
blood ran down its sides, seeping into the dark
stone. When the gate had finished with the
young king, this blood was all that remained.
“You’re no better than me,” Cairn said.
She turned to him, but it was not the
warrior who had tormented her standing in the
mists.
Twelve of them lurked there, formless and
yet present, ancient and cold. As one they
spoke. “Liar. Traitor. Coward.”
The blood on the gate soaked into the