Irren: the rightful heir.

 I watched out of the palace as the portal rippled and a small girl stepped through.

Human. She must be dispatched of, otherwise the dimwits of The Dimension will realise that the Prophecy is more than a mere bedtime story. I sent out two of my guards and turned away, my gown sweeping the floor as I glid across the room. I snapped my fingers and another two guards hauled a young man, struggling and pouring a stream of profanities, up to my presence. He immediately stopped and I saw with satisfaction the colour drain from his cheeks. This is a true ruler, one who can strike fear into the hearts of all who stand before her. The young man- a demon child, I noted with a disapproving air- now started to beg for mercy.

He had not meant to....he was taken in....a mob mentality...I had heard it all before. His eyes gleamed red with revolution: I could tell that he was no innocent. This demon was a full-blown dissident. My lip curled at such a worthless, lowlife creaure. I could not bear to let him talk on and on incessantly. With one swift look I felt his throat close up, my mind's grip on him. Ah, the wonders of mental manipulation. He struggled more, his hands grasping at his throat, which to the naked eye appeared be of perfect health. I spoke calmly. 'I think you know what happens to revolutionaries.' My mind shifted his collarbone.

He snapped like a twig. 'Take him away. That should teach him who the rightful heir is.'

The End

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