She looked down from the window of the castle. Down at the destruction that she’d caused. At the broken dead bodies littered all over the streets. At the rivers of blood streaming down the ridges of the stones of the streets. At the fallen cracked brick and stone buildings along the streets. At the tears running down the faces of the newly orphaned children, the newly widowed wives and the newly childless parents. At the fallen trees, some brutally ripped into half, dull green leaves scattered all over the ground.
But they deserved it. They deserved it all. When she was locked up in the aforementioned tower, no one came to save her. No one stopped the king and queen from locking up their daughter in the highest tower on the highest hill in their kingdom for 10 years. No one interrupted the faerie’s curse, the one she had wronged. No one told her that the boy she had met had been betrothed to the same faerie.
She did it all by herself. She was the one who killed the dame of the tower, who was keeping her in. She was the one who ripped open the wooden door and ran towards the castle, towards the parents who betrayed her. She was the one who knocked out the guards of the gate. She was the one who took over the throne. She was the one who threw her parents in the dungeons below with the creatures that roamed. She was the one who had reigned over the kingdom for the past 3 years with an iron fist.
They were scared, frightened, angry.
But she was happy.