The Castle shook again. The air was filled with anger, loathing, and violence as it had been for the past half a year. Nothing was right. The kingdom of Asmodia was in the heat of a civil war, and niether side was winning nor losing. It was a stale mate, but that didn't stop the villagers outside and in the outskirts from violently tearing and trashing each other. Pit against the hated blows of fate, there was no end to this uncivilized "civil" war in sight.
The Redwings, a group fiercely opposed to King Lyroc's new ideologies, were deadly and threatening. However, he was in no real danger. The Loyalists, those fiercely by his side, swarmed the castle halls. They had drafted and conscripted new guards from all over Asmodia, and seeing how there were no wars with the neighboring kindgoms, the knights and guards spent all of their time protecting the castle rather then their own boarders. Lyroc had two daughters-- the eldest was whisked away by foolish and blind love by a pirate, and has long sailed past the Asmodian sea years ago.

The youngest was Princess Selephrious Elariane Asmodeus, aged 22. In childhood, the maids would nickname her "Phrious", and after years of that was just a simple "Freya". Princess Freya. Although, unknown to her, the handmaidens had other less affectionate terms for their dear master.
You see, Freya had been hardened by her father's personality. If anything, she mirrored him perfectly. Too often do the elder women who were around during Princess Amoura's time did they mutter how often they missed the elder sister and her kind demour that kept the palace a peaceful respite. Freya was hellacious-- beautiful beyond compare with a deadly wit that could pierce even the toughest of skins. Her beautiful long black hair was often kept in a loose bun with strands flowing down to her small waist. Her pale snowy skin glowed in contrast, and her ice blue eyes could neither warm nor welcome your existence. All that mattered to her was herself.
She was just like her father.


"This is dreadfully boring," Freya sighed. The initiation of the new knights of Asmodia was usually an annual celebration, but since the civil war began, the ceremony took place rather often. She stood by the throne of Lyroc as he moved through his speech half-heartedly, not even capable of faking a small smile. She never smiled. She didn't even care to scan the new guards and knights. She knew they were all looking at her, but the thought of any sort of recognition of them fleeted her mind. She would rather be studying her music. "Is it almost over?" She said under her breath.