He remembered the day the crown was placed upon her brow. The power she immediately commanded. The instantaneous praise of those bowing before her.
His life became an armature of her will. He could recall the pride swelling in his chest. His unquestioning reaction to draw his blade and end a life at the sound of her sweet, soft words. His internal struggle to serve her and nothing more.
He could remember watching her walk before him, committing the curves of her hips to memory. The swaying of her hair a familiar comfort. The vigor of her gait matched the rhythm of his beating heart. He would have followed her into ruin without question.
He could not recall the day the poison seeped into his mind. The hour the veil was pulled from his eyes. The moment his devotion shifted to ire.
The once mighty crown, now a declaration of separation. Her power revealed to be actions of fear. The praise of her followers, pleas for pardon.
Rage replaced the pride in his chest. His hand quivered as she ordered his blade. He wanted nothing more than to leave her side.
Her movements now grotesque. Her body a filthy temple demanding worship instead of inviting it. Her footsteps now echoes of annoyance.
He could not judge if jealousy controlled his mind. He wondered if a spell had forced his actions. He struggled to consider that his own ignorance may be to blame.
As he drew his sword a final time he looked into the eyes of a woman he once worshiped. He asked himself if it would it be easier to end the suffering or continue to serve a lie.