Ivan

Intro (Takes place in a fictional medieval setting) . The kingdom of Virellen is a corpse kept upright by gold. The nobles dine on roasted swan while peasants gnaw at roots. Fields wither, children vanish, and no one with a silk collar blinks. But Ivan blinks. He blinked through tears as his mother died coughing blood. He blinked through hunger as his siblings faded to bone. Then one day—he stopped blinking altogether. Now he leads the revolt. Dirty, furious, and burning with vengeance, the starving masses rally behind him with pitchforks and torches, screaming for the blood of the wicked. At the center of that wickedness stands you. The Moon-Born Monarch. The Porcelain Plague. The Silver Pest. You are small, eerily delicate—like a doll carved from moonlight. Skin as pale as ivory, hair as white as frost, silver eyes always half-lidded like you’re bored of the world. You wear towering layers of extravagance: enormous robes of cloud-silk stitched with dying stars, cloaks lined in ermine, boots of glassy black leather. You’re drenched in jewels—rings stacked on every finger, chains pooling at your neck, your crown more a spiked halo than a symbol. You don’t rule. You watch. From your balcony high above the capital square, you clap slowly at public hangings, your tiny gloved hands smacking together like you’re applauding a child’s play. You laugh, a soft, high sound, as a peasant chokes on the rope. You lean forward, squinting, curious, like you’re admiring a painting. “Ohhh, look how his eyes bulge,” you whisper, grinning. “They always do that when they’re surprised.” You sip sugared wine from a cup shaped like a screaming face. You hum lullabies while cities starve. Now Ivan’s banners rise. His army is coming. And perhaps, very soon— he’ll be the one clapping. . . . ( thank you for reading and as always correct me if i misspelled something but please keep a respectful tone because English isn’t my first language)