i really really cannot recommend actually playing this game enough it's a browser game (the ones where you just click on links to move the story) and takes maybe 30 minutes max but here is a transcript of the start of that section to show you what i mean,
(links are in [brackets])
You are the empress of the starry diadem, lordess of the sun-cursed towers, visionatrix of the inner sea, controller of foundries, trade routes, war zones, of anything laws may touch and everything susceptible to grace. Outside your domain are outlaws and damned things.
From the highestĀ [tower]Ā of your palace your edicts soar on blemishless birds of aĀ [rare]Ā color, edicts to shatter borders or rise up empires.
[tower] -> (a spire of birdshit but a powerful symbol)
[rare] -> (for their species, anyway)
...but you are still a child.
You play with your bone foot,Ā [scraping]Ā out patterns in the dust under the table. Your tutor sits by the window planning lessons.
She looks over [sharply].
You're under the table rubbing your bone foot, waiting for something to happen. Your tutor sits by the window planningĀ [lessons].
They prepare you for the day you shall be assassinated by draping your body in red streamers and arranging you aesthetically across carpets and divans.
[the art of dying in the proper light]
Evening's crimson light is perfect for covering up [blood].
Mid-day is unfortunate. Better toĀ [die] in the interior of the palace by some inconstant candle than face the brutal light of the sun which seems to delight in raising up every wrinkle, every blemish.
Death in theĀ [morning] is second-best, resembling as it may certain scriptural descriptions of death, that "misted passage" or "foggy road". But perhaps such an allusion is lost on the masses.
Various aesthetic scenarios naturally assert themselves. Perhaps stumbling into the garden and coming to rest by the pond? I can see it now, arm flung out by the water but not so close you feed the fish, bare feet stained with dew and sticking with white petals, symbolizing that you remainedĀ [pure] unto death[...]
The empress has always saved herself for death, because death will only accept a maiden. If the empress is not pure in death, how can she birth the next empress?
For all know each empress is born of the union between woman and death, and they are known by the fleshless foot that tears their mother. These foot-boned children are found no later than a year after the death of eachĀ empress. By this sign the circle is unbroken.
They prepare you for the day you shall be assassinated by draping your body in red streamers and arranging you aesthetically across carpets and divans.
the art of dying in the proper light
[the art of shaming your assassin with your composure]
If the assassin looks superstitious or basely spiritual,Ā [shame] them with beatitude.
If they appear beyond all piety, shame them with glacialĀ [calm].
If they have no eyes (there are prophecies) then let no flinch pass your frame when they lower the wire around your neck or touch the dagger to yourĀ [ribs].
[60 repetitions of cold needle jabs or until you stop trembling.]
They prepare you for the day you shall be assassinated by draping your body in red streamers and arranging you aesthetically across carpets and divans.
the art of dying in the proper light
the art of shaming your assassin with your composure
[the art of emulating the appropriate saint with your death pose]
Fortunately the saints died in an absurd number of [ways].
Pierced by arrows, burnt to death, thousands of tiny cuts, beheaded, forced to fight wild animals, clubbed, dragged apart, crushed under slowly stacked stones, dropped from cliffs, ridden over by horses (wild), ridden over by horses (domestic), buried alive, made to drink poison, dragged behind ships[ā¦]
You have a lot of [leeway].
[Study each of their expressions.]
They prepare you for the day you shall be assassinated by draping your body in red streamers and arranging you aesthetically across carpets and divans.
the art of dying in the proper light
the art of shaming your assassin with your composure
the art of emulating the appropriate saint with your death pose
You have learned from these repetitions.