"Yeah, OK, so what? I killed him. End of story. No big deal!"

Silence in the court room. Never had a young girl got up and said anything like that.

But then again, there were few girls like her. She was mad. Completely mad.

Mad.

Mad.

Mad.

No sanity.

She'd always been strange.

Saying, doing things that got her into trouble.

She had always been insane.

Who in their right mind would admit to murdering a King? A well-loved, good King.

But she'd admitted it.

No, more than just admit it. She said it out loud, like it was nothing.

For killing a King, the sentence was a horrific death. But did she care? No. not at all.

Mad.

Bloodthirsty.

Murderer.

Death didn't worry her.

It was quite natural, she said.

She was solitary.

Solitary, silent and different.

Cleaver.

Sly.

Cunning.

But still mad.

No one knew her parentage. Not even her. And what's more, she didn't care.

They couldn't really be human. Not both pure human.

Where two needed?

One? Three? More?

What was she?

Cold hearted.

At first glance, she is just another girl. Human.

But then you notice things.

Small things.

She moved differently.

She didn't look at things - she looked through them.

Her voice was a whisper. A sharp, scratching, piercing whisper.

Her hands were barely hands - they looked more like the claws of a vicious, wild animal.

She wouldn't have been taken in or tolerated, but the now-dead King had been a kind, peaceful man and had made sure she was treated fairly.

AND THIS WAS HOW SHE REPAID HIM?

Death.

She reminds you of death.

The death of your kitten of puppy.

The death of your parents.

The death of your friends.

The death of your children.

The death of your lover.

And your death.

She seemed to advertise immortality and mock your mortality at the same time.

Will she die when her sentence is carried out?