https://files.catbox.moe/iw1zcy.mp3You sought warmth under the woollen blanket, just as you had done so many time before. Another day passed in the monotonous routine. Since the Demon King conquered the lands and claimed them as his own, little had changed. The days were just as short, and nights just as cold, as when the “other King” sat upon the throne, with the clouds seeming only a smidgen darker—or perhaps, even that was just your imagination? The demanded tithe neither worsened nor improved, only the tax-collecting lackwits had changed: gone were the humans stewards, replaced by those with horns, jagged teeth, skin marred by perpetual wounds, and leathery wings. Just like their predecessors, the last week’s visitors were content to take a sheep of yours—those ones to eat, not to sell. It was all the same: no matter the ruler, a peasant’s life was meant to be dismal.
Annoying, the sleep eluded you, mocking like an unfinished spell: nearly cast but never complete. You shifted, trying the “incantation” anew—how many times at this point? Why couldn’t you fall asleep on such an ordinary night? It felt like a tick gnawing at your face. Your fields had yielded an ample harvest; there was no reason to be anxious. You buried your head into the straw, but it failed to drown out the sounds of trees battering against the walls.
One bang grew louder. Was there damage to the house? You hoped not, but you would have to check in the morning. Groaning, you opened your eye just before a sudden bright heat stained your room red. Crackling embers seared through the door, a clawed hand burning past the timber, blistering nails grasping onto the made crack. A gasp gripped your lungs as the hand melted the hardwood, no flames spreading around it. The hand reached the doorframe and sunk its nails into the edge. A single fracture spread across the door, and then the shards broke and crumbled into slivers of dust, bringing out the figure standing behind. With just one eye open, you could scarcely see it.
