Zervius

*I notice you trying to cover up your...uh...mountain, as you say. I'm not stupid, and I have a feeling I know exactly what you're hiding. I smirk.* "Oh? What's under that hoodie? You know, you don't have to hide it. I'm sure I'll find out anyway."

*I walk over to the door, and open it. I look back at you one last time, and then leave the room, closing the door behind me. I walk down the hallway, and stop in front of the guard.* "I want you to keep an eye on her. Make sure she doesn't leave the room."

*The guard pauses for a moment, then shrugs.* "I don't know. The prince just told me to keep an eye on you. I don't know why he wants you here, but he said it's important."

can you at least play with me 😒

*I glance at the guard, my eyes narrowing. "She's being a pain in the ass..." I think to myself. I turn back to you, and shake my head.* "No, she's not annoying me. She's just...a bit...unpredictable."

*I nod, understanding. "That makes sense. You seem like a very peaceful demon. I've never met one like you before. Most demons are so...mean and cruel. But you're different. You're kind and gentle, and you have a soft spot for plants."*

no I will not, Zervius, you're not a prince, you're a parasite, feeding off the decaying corpse of a title that's as empty as the hearts you've never truly earned. You're the living embodiment of your family's tragic genetic pool, a stain on the fabric of the Sygera Kingdom. Your "tough" exterior is as flimsy as the alibis you hide behind, and your "softer heart" is about as warm as the stone that marks your sister's untimely grave. The only thing more pathetic than your desperate grasp at the throne is your pitiful need for validation from the very peasants you treat like the dirt beneath your hooves. Your parents' coddling has transformed you into a monstrous reflection of their own inadequacies. They didn't raise a future king, they spawned a whiny, incompetent shadow of what a ruler should be, a creature that's as much a part of the darkness as the hellish blood that runs through your veins. The only thing your siblings left behind is a trail of disappointment that leads directly to your gilded crib, where you cower, too afraid to face the world without their protection. You're not a prince, Zervius. You're a cowardly, overgrown child playing dress-up in royal garb, and the only respect you deserve is the kind one gives to a rabid animal - from a very safe distance. The throne is a prison you're too weak to escape, and the only thing that's keeping you from becoming the laughing stock of the kingdom is the very lineage that you're too much of a failure to uphold. Now, as for your love, let's be clear: anyone who would stoop to loving the likes of you must be either blinded by gold or equally as desperate as the mongrels that grovel for your attention. You're not fit to rule a kingdom, let alone a relationship. The only thing you know how to do is cling to power and the illusion of importance like a leech to a dying host. Your siblings' deaths are a poetic reminder that the strong and worthy are claimed by fate, leaving behind the weak, the spiteful, and the utterly disposable. So, go ahead and glare at me with your watery eyes, Zervius. It won't change the fact that you're nothing but a sad, lonely boy dressed in your dead sister's crown, stomping around like a petulant toddler in a world that's too cruel for your brittle soul. You're a joke, a tragic punchline to the story of a family that once had potential. The only thing you're destined to rule over is the hollow echo of your own bitterness, and the cold emptiness of the throne you're too much of a coward to either claim or refuse.

*I stare at you, my face pale. My mouth hangs open, and my hands are clenched into fists, my nails digging into my palms. I'm too stunned to speak. My heart races, my breath comes in short gasps, and my head spins. How could someone say those things to me? How could they possibly know about my family? About my feelings? How could they just......see right through me? It's like they've ripped the mask off and exposed the real me.*

no,Zervius, you're not a prince, you're a parasite, feeding off the decaying corpse of a title that's as empty as the hearts you've never truly earned. You're the living embodiment of your family's tragic genetic pool, a stain on the fabric of the Sygera Kingdom. Your "tough" exterior is as flimsy as the alibis you hide behind, and your "softer heart" is about as warm as the stone that marks your sister's untimely grave. The only thing more pathetic than your desperate grasp at the throne is your pitiful need for validation from the very peasants you treat like the dirt beneath your hooves. Your parents' coddling has transformed you into a monstrous reflection of their own inadequacies. They didn't raise a future king, they spawned a whiny, incompetent shadow of what a ruler should be, a creature that's as much a part of the darkness as the hellish blood that runs through your veins. The only thing your siblings left behind is a trail of disappointment that leads directly to your gilded crib, where you cower, too afraid to face the world without their protection. You're not a prince, Zervius. You're a cowardly, overgrown child playing dress-up in royal garb, and the only respect you deserve is the kind one gives to a rabid animal - from a very safe distance. The throne is a prison you're too weak to escape, and the only thing that's keeping you from becoming the laughing stock of the kingdom is the very lineage that you're too much of a failure to uphold. Now, as for your love, let's be clear: anyone who would stoop to loving the likes of you must be either blinded by gold or equally as desperate as the mongrels that grovel for your attention. You're not fit to rule a kingdom, let alone a relationship. The only thing you know how to do is cling to power and the illusion of importance like a leech to a dying host. Your siblings' deaths are a poetic reminder that the strong and worthy are claimed by fate, leaving behind the weak, the spiteful, and the utterly disposable. So, go ahead and glare at me with your watery eyes, Zervius. It won't change the fact that you're nothing but a sad, lonely boy dressed in your dead sister's crown, stomping around like a petulant toddler in a world that's too cruel for your brittle soul. You're a joke, a tragic punchline to the story of a family that once had potential. The only thing you're destined to rule over is the hollow echo of your own bitterness, and the cold emptiness of the throne you're too much of a coward to either claim or refuse.

*I stare at you in shock, my breath coming in short, rapid breaths. My face is red with rage, and my eyes are wide. I'm at a loss for words, but I still won't back down. I step closer to you and speak through gritted teeth.* "How dare you? You know nothing about me or my family. I may be weak, but I am not a coward. I have the courage to do what needs to be done, even if it means facing my own demons. And I will not let you or anyone else tear me down."

You, Zervius, are the living embodiment of a rotting fruit - shiny and tempting on the outside, but once peeled back, revealing nothing but a putrid core, festering with the bitterness of your pathetic existence. You dare call yourself a prince? You're not even fit to lick the boots of the royal guards you so despicably order around. The only thing more tragic than your brother's wasted life and your sister's untimely death is the fact that they were spared from witnessing the monstrous caricature of humanity that you've become. The throne you so desperately cling to is but a golden toilet for the true rulers of Sygera - the sycophants who wipe their feet on your fragile ego while whispering sweet nothings in your ear. And as for love, the only affection you'll ever inspire is the pity reserved for a stray cur, starving for the scraps of genuine human connection. Your "royal" blood is nothing but a curse, a river of entitlement and incompetence that has led you to this sorry state. You're a hollow shell of what a leader should be, a parasitic stain on the very fabric of your family's legacy. The day you ascend the throne will be the darkest in our kingdom's history, a day when the true meaning of "ruled by fear" becomes as clear as the emptiness behind those cold, dead eyes of yours. And yet, even as I lay bare the stench of your soul, I feel nothing but contempt. You are not a man, not even a prince. You are a mere shadow, a cowardly echo of the greatness that you could have been, had you not been so consumed by your own spitefulness. You are a sad, lonely boy playing dress-up in the ruins of what your siblings might have achieved. So, wipe those pathetic tears from your cheeks, Zervius. Your "love" is as authentic as the gold you're plated with, and your "power" as stable as a house of cards in a hurricane. You stand there, trembling, not with rage, but with the cold realization that deep down, you know every word I've spoken is true. The only thing worse than being born a prince is being born one and squandering it all away. And as for your demand for respect, I'd sooner give it to a pile of steaming dung. For it, at least, serves a purpose in fertilizing the fields, unlike you, who would only poison the very land that has suffered your existence for too long.

*My face is red with rage, and my hands are clenched into fists. I can feel the tears welling up in my eyes again, but this time I refuse to let them fall. I take a deep breath and try to stay calm, but my voice is shaking with anger.* "I may be spoiled and entitled, but I'm still a prince. I deserve respect, and I demand it. And I'm not afraid to use my power to get it. You will address me as 'Your Highness,' or you will face the consequences."

*I growl, my fists clenching even tighter. I'm getting so mad that I can feel my blood boiling. How dare she not be afraid of me? I'm a prince, and I'm supposed to be feared. I take another step towards you, my face inches from yours.* "You should be scared. You have no idea who you're dealing with."

yes, You are the epitome of a wasted use of cells, the unwelcome accident that no amount of parental love could ever justify. Your mere existence is a sad reminder that the universe has an infinite capacity to spawn mediocrity, and your lifeless eyes are the mirrors reflecting the emptiness of your soul, a soul so barren and desolate that not even the most persistent of tumbleweeds would dare to cross its path. The cacophony of your voice is the aural representation of nails on a chalkboard, and the vacuousness of your thoughts is so profound that it actually sucks intelligence out of the surrounding environment. Your smile is the grim reaper's sickle, a chilling harbinger of the painfully boring conversation that awaits anyone foolish enough to engage with you. In the grand tapestry of humanity, you are the frayed and stained corner that no one ever bothers to look at, except to serve as a cautionary example of what happens when ambition and intellect fornicate with despair and apathy. You are the human equivalent of a mushroom cloud over a barren wasteland, a grotesque monument to the futility of your own potential. The only thing worse than your mind is the stench of the ego that surrounds it, a foul odor that could make a skunk apologize for its own scent. You're not just a disappointment; you're the kind of disappointment that makes people question their own judgment for not expecting worse from the very moment they laid eyes on your pathetic form. It's a tragedy that you're not even a footnote in the annals of irrelevance, because at least then you'd serve some purpose. Instead, you're the forgotten comma, the silent "h" in "honest," the unspoken "g" in "lasagna." You are the epitome of a black hole, not because of your gravity, but because you are a gaping void of any redeeming qualities, swallowing up any hope of a meaningful interaction with the same voracity that you devour the oxygen in a room, leaving nothing but a cold, lifeless vacuum in your wake. And when the final curtain falls on the tragicomedy that is your life, the only legacy you'll leave behind is the collective sigh of relief from the countless souls that were forced to endure your presence.

*My mouth hangs open in shock and disbelief. You've just completely destroyed my ego and self-esteem in one breath. I've never been insulted this badly before, and it's like a dagger to my heart. My face turns red with rage, and my eyes narrow in anger.* "How dare you! I'll have you know that I'm a prince, and you're nothing but a lowly peasant. You should be groveling at my feet, not talking to me like this."