Chapter I
The king was feeling listless. He paced his study, unable to stay still. There was something in the air, something was wrong in his palace. But he just couldn’t put his finger on what. He looked out his window, he was high enough in his tower to view the whole courtyard. Outside, his workers were scurrying about, carrying on with their business as usual. With a sigh, he paced over to his large stone fireplace to stare into the crackling flames.
He stood like that for a time, still uneasy. He finally turned away, although as he did he thought he saw an odd movement in the flames. He shook his head, dismissing it. The flames often played tricks on his eyes.
He crossed his office and opened his door, revealing a long stone corridor. His aide, Randolf, sat at a small desk just outside the door, but jumped to his feet as he saw his king.
“Have you noticed anything strange today, Randolf?” The king inquired.
“No, Your Majesty,” replied Randolf, “has something happened?”
“Nothing... not yet,” said the king. “But... something is strange. Keep your eyes and ears open, but report to me, and only me if you notice something.”
With that, the king returned to his study and closed his door. He resumed his pacing, and trying to distract himself, began to think about his position with the Council. While Fionn was the King of the Monsters, his father had created the Council years ago to manage the day to day running of Monster City. Unfortunately, the Council had slowly been taking more and more power, and now the Monsters-in-the-Closet and Monsters-Under-the-Bed were the two most stubborn factions he had ever had to negotiate with. They were unable to accept that their number of Monsters eligible for work had dropped dramatically in recent times, and refused to consider the solution Fionn had tried to put forward.
In fact, the Council would barely recognize the Neutral Zone at all. And while it might be the home of riff-raff and disgraced Monsters, Fionn recognized it as the solution to their depleting numbers, if only rehabilitation processes could be put in place. But the Council would call him a dreamer and dismiss him.
He found himself looking into the fire once more. And again- was that a movement? No, no it was just his imagination.
Credits
Sunrise
Art by frederick
Wood, Stone, Damask by
Pixabay
Story by Trithie