A young heir in their early twenties, a dark horse who rose from common streets to carry royal blood, stands alone in the center aisle of a vast abandoned gothic throne hall at twilight on a late autumn evening when the first frost has settled and the war of succession has ended with all other claimants fallen. One hand rests on the pommel of a longsword whose tip touches the cracked white and grey marble floor, the other hand is extended forward with fingers just short of touching a small golden crown set with three dark sapphires, resting on a red velvet cushion with gold tassels held out by a kneeling royal guard in dented silver armor with his helmet tucked under his arm and his head lowered. They wear a deep black hooded cloak lined with off-white fur with gold crown embroidery on the chest and sleeves and faintly shimmering thread along the edges, over a pale cream tunic with long sleeves sewn with silver thread in the shape of oak leaves, a dark silk sash at the waist, worn leather bracers, and mud-caked travel boots, the trailing hem torn and stained. Their dark hair is half tied back with loose strands dusted with ash, a thin pale scar runs across the left cheek, a simple iron circlet sits crooked on their head, and their breath is visible in the cold air. Their face is calm with quiet unwavering resolve, silver-grey eyes fixed on the crown, a faint tired smile that holds both grief and restrained ambition. The view is at eye level, slightly low, in a three-quarter medium-full composition that centers the heir and places the empty throne directly behind, a massive throne forged from countless fused swords with dried blood at its base, flanked by towering stone columns and pointed arches. Behind them crimson banners bearing a lion, a wolf, and a dragon hang torn between marble columns, stained glass windows in deep reds and blues are shattered and let shafts of amber light and moonlight fall across stone walls, an ornate unlit chandelier sways slightly overhead, dust motes hang in the cold, sword marks and footprints in ash cover the cracked marble floor, defeated rival candidates in velvet and armor kneel with lowered heads at the edges of the hall, and three black ravens perch on the high pillars watching the moment the crown awaits its sole successor.
Master Foolishly
