If my brother had not been so stubborn, none of this would have happened. But here I sat, on the eldest’s throne, where I had always wanted to be - but for not much longer. Here I was, but Marius was dead and it was his own fault. But I was getting the blame for it.

In my youth, I concocted a plan to get rid of my brother for good, so the throne would be mine. I knew I was willing to go to any extremes to do it; I just needed the perfect way for it to happen.

Marius was infamous for not wearing his diadem. One day, I snuck into his bedchamber and found it, slipping my own off and putting his on. To my great surprise, my form in the mirror shimmered, and I looked down in shock as I began to change forms. When I returned my gaze to the mirror, Marius was staring back at me.

No way. He had enchanted his diadem.

I wished to appear as a human, and before I knew it, I was staring back at one, shorter and wider than my elven form, with their silly rounded ears.

Slowly, it began to dawn on me what I could do with this newfound power. I could disguise myself as Marius, and fake my own death. That way, there was no chance of our other brothers getting the throne.

My plan ended up working, and I took the throne. I didn’t even need to kill Marius, because he ran away on his own. And he took the diadem with him, disguising himself as some pixie so he could marry a peasant girl. It was foolish, but I didn’t care because I was deemed most fit to rule Silver Hills.

I had been king for thirty years before the great Cataclysm struck the realm, and I commanded my elven army to seal us behind the Crystal Barrier to keep the magic-binding tidal wave - the Blitz - from wiping us out.

Marius was the only elf outside of Silver Hills that refused to come home. He had fathered a new race, being an elf and Ashya, his wife, being a pixie. Now there were Druids, worthless half-breeds, if you’d ask me. Their magicks had been diluted; no way would their bloodline ever keep up with the elves’ power.

I could honestly care less what my brother wanted to do. If he wanted to stay out there, lose his magic, and possibly die, when the Blitz hit, that was fine with me. But I extended gracious invitation back into our kingdom in front of my subjects. When he refused, I accepted his choice.

But now, sealed behind this wall of ice and crystal, my subjects want to overthrow me for it. With nowhere to go, an overthrown king can’t go into exile. He can only be punished by death.

My stupid brother wasn’t coming back. I suppose the universe rights every wrong in time.