Nero! Who do you want to kill next!? ((drabble))
Red was her favorite color.
It spoke in many shades: Beautiful and grotesque, noble and scrounger, life and death. No matter the location, no matter the era, the language that it so heavenly spoke struck chords in within the emperor's chest.
And on this day, it's poetry was absinthal. At her feet, laid the bodies of those who imprisoned her. The nurse with the facial markings... the doctor stained with blight... and the director, her features incomprehensible, all linked together in a sanguine pool.
And yet, she was offered no reprieve.
Their bodies lost warmth, their maniacal procedures a memory. But she remained in their world, trapped by blinding white and decaying air.
In the end, Nero had not been released from their cruel grasp.