The dagger shook in Silvia’s sweaty hand, and she gripped it tightly. Breathing quietly and heavily, she walked into the castle’s grand bedroom. 

The room was dark, and she could barely see. She could make out the shapes of tall picture frames hung delicately on the champagne-colored walls and in the center, there was a canopied bed, fit for a queen. Isn’t that ironic? Silvia thought. There was a small ottoman at the foot of the bed, and on top, two small throw blankets. Silvia glanced around quickly and nervously, checking the small clock on the back wall.

Five minutes. Silvia thought to herself. Only five minutes. I can do this in five minutes. She didn’t understand the doubt she held in her mind. She wasn’t supposed to think like this. Oh, what her sister would think of her right now. Yet here she was, standing over the monarch of the kingdom, a bloody dagger in her trembling hand.