It's Not Murder, When...

He plunged his wrists into the river, but the cool ripplings never came. The river was hot, thick...it felt wrong somehow. He looked down to find it red.

Blood.

Hot, flowing blood...not rinsing him clean of sins, but soaking them into his soul.

Snapping awake, he glared at his castle walls with an impotent rage. This was ridiculous. He was a KING, after all--and no man could judge his decisions. But the darkness comes back around, always...and with it comes that trance-like state, where life's actions and experiences have created a tailored world of their own.