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01: The Rendering Spell
He couldn't take it anymore, his soft-blue eyes revolted against the obscure lighting in them, pulsing a blinding sting. His trembling breath succeeding to frantic pants, his stomach churns in apprehension, his sanity growing scarcer as the fear in the air grows thick. Locked in a room with only a diary and a mold of animal fat that had a dying flame winking on the wick. He was writing in desperation, his last entry, as if someone was lingering in the pages ready to converse with him:
'It was like catastrophe had a name, Mozatar. The land I was to inherit but had befallen to pandemonium without me to protect her. What a beauty she had been before they locked me away.
Do I know how long I've been imprisoned here? No, I do not, for they gave me no windows. It feels like hundreds of years had passed without the shimmering sun welcoming my wake in the morning, the arrays of clouds sauntering in to bring a rainstorm, or even the most whimsical maiden of all things in nature, the ever-changing moon to veil the darkness in her faint glisten.
I have but little time left, and what they're planning to do to me, I do not know yet. I am, for the first time in my life, stricken in pure fear and hatred. If I, ever are free, the world will know my wrath.'
He is interrupted by the latch of the door, whispers and laughter trail in with the cold air shifting through the crack. He quivers in the cool draft and anticipation. "It's time to go," a deep voice eerily signifying that it's "time for punishment".
He takes in a quivering, deep breath of the putrid, moist air filling the room. It will be the last he for quite some time. "I'm sorry, son," the man wraps his arm around the other's elbow, "but we must be going now."
The prisoner nods his head with a crushed expression as they leave the room and walk down the cold, darkened dungeon faintly lit by few candles on the skulls of still, shackled skeletons. The hostage looks away in disgust and closes his eyes tightly as the anonymous prison guard leads him.
"It will all be over soon . . .my prince," the masked stranger tries to offer a sliver of comfort.
"Prince?" he whispers indistinctly.
"Yes, I am not of the revolution," he murmurs, "I am sorry, but my plan didn't go well, I was sent here to set you free."
"Free? But, I failed you . . .and Mozatar," the fallen prince deepens his voice.
"No, you didn't, the people have failed you. Now, My Prince, it is time for silence."
They reach the end of the hallway, a bitter energy surging through the draft from the cracks in the stone door. He starts to tremble, his knees growing weak, his heart races as beads of sweat trickle from his hair to his brow.
The anonymous guard reaches out his arm and shoves the door open, a blinding flash filters out the young prince's sight as he feels himself hauled into the room by the guard. A woman, disheveled dirty blonde hair, pale, sickly skin and thin purplish lips welded into with a devilish grin that lures the prince to look away. "Hello, Prince Horace. Such a pleasant surprise to be meeting you. Seems that your usual charm has faded and you look like you're twenty years older than you really are. . . . But that does not matter, for what you're about to be, you'll never have to worry about ageing!"
"Ooh, what does my queen have in mind?" a raspy voice hisses from the side of the room that Prince Horace neglects to look in the direction of.
"How about eternal life as a bottom dweller? And only a kiss will be able to render him back into a human - wait. . . that's perfect! Who in their right mind would want to kiss something that inhabits and off what's in filth?" she sneers.
"I concur," the man with the hoarse voice agrees.
"Good," the dark sorceress comes to a conclusion. She looks over at the guard, "You there! Move!"
The anonymous guard lets his grasp of the prince's arm slowly, gently loosen and he steps a few feet away.
The dark sorceress lifts her palm as she starts to chant, a flash of light collides against the prince and his body is rendered into another creature. A frog climbs out of the wrinkled pile of clothes in the floor and starts to hop out the door. The guard follows the escaping frog out of the room and as it tries to flee, he picks it up and places him in his pocket. Only later to release it at a lake.
