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((Loosely based off of the "Daughter of Evil" Vocaloid videos. The idea fascinated me, and I had some extra time on my hands, so I made a short story using two of my characters. One is a bit OOC in this, but since none of you know him, I don't figure it matters.

And I did it from three different perspectives because it's a fun writing exercise. So yes, it's on purpose.))

You know the stories as well as anyone. The stories of the evil king of the land who exploited his workers and taxed them into starvation. You've heard the stories of his lavish castle among the impovershed villages of his nation.

You've also heard the stories of the revolution which swept through the nation - a group of rebels. You've heard of their recent raid on the castle, their killing of any royal official they can lay their hands on.

You are not from this land, and do not wish to be. You are merely passing through, but you come at a pivotal moment. You were about to pass through the capital when a ruckus in the town square - just outside the castle - caught your attention. Your curiousity got the better of you, of course, and now you stand here, on the fringe of the crowd, barely able to see the guillotine lined up front and center.

There are cheers as the young king is brought up onto the platform, guarded on both sides in case of escape. You don't suppose it matters. Judging by the fervor of the crowd, the guillotine seems a blessing in comparison to the town's people's wrath.

You are surprised by how young the king looks. You knew he was hardly yet a man, but his clothes seem to hang off of him, as if they don't belong. It seems cruel to kill someone so young. From where you stand, he seems to be nothing more than a kid playing pretend - some poor child caught playing in the robes of the true king.

Surely such a person cannot have commited the crimes he has been accused of.

The head of the rebellion is standing in front of him, dressed in armor. He has a self-satisfied grin across his face as he declares, "So, the great King Felix! Do you have any last words for your people?" The man's voice booms across the crowd, echoing in my ears. It almost drowns out the chuckling of the king.

"The great King Felix," he starts, and his voice cracks. "The great King Felix has nothing to say to these scum."

The crowd shouts and jeers, but you continue to watch on solemnly as they force his head into the guillotine and raise the blade. You watch his face as well as you can - is he remorseful? Does he care at all that his own people have foresaken him? However, his face is obscured by his mess of blonde hair, and all you can see are his shaking shoulders.

The blade raises, and the crowd grows louder. However, the minute the blade is released, all that can be heard is the sickening sound of metal scraping against wood and the sound of somebody chuckling. Then...

THUNK.

The king's head disappears from view and the crowd cheers. You decided to leave, but as you turn, you see a young man standing behind you, looking at the scene with horror. He could pass off quite well for the recently deceased king, you think. He's young enough, has the same, messy blonde hair. But his clothes mark him quite well as a commoner. You can't help but wonder why a commoner of this country would be saddened by the passing by of such an awful leader, and yet he is.

You walk past him, cuirous, but resigned to never knowing. You doubt talking to him about his feelings would get anything out of him.

But there are two sides of every story, even if they are never told.

------------

As long as anyone can remember, I've served the young king of our country. Well, serve may not be quite the best word - being two years younger than he, he treated me more as a younger brother than a servant. I fancied myself as the prince from time to time - we look similar enough. But, of course, I guess a prince doesn't serve his older brother his breakfast on a silver platter every morning.

I never said it was an entirely likely scenario.

All the same, we grew up together. I was so much younger than most the other servants that I found it difficult to make friends among them, so I instead spent most of my time with the young king. He would boast of his learning in the arts and literature, and would thus prove it by teaching me a number of different things - philosophy, physics, piano. I didn't grasp most things quite as quickly as he did, but that was alright with me.

When we were younger, my main duty as personal assistant was to make the king laugh. I learned from the court jesters the best way to turn a phrase or make a face. He actually hated most of my jokes, but he laughed at how awful they were, so I suppose I did my job nonetheless. So long as he was laughing, I was happy.

The differences among our status became more pronounced as we got older. Instead of sending me out into town in order to steal some sweets from the vendor, I found myself being sent out into the town to listen in on the rebels and rat them out. I heard a myriad of things about the "evil" King Felix, most of which were untrue.

The rebels claimed he was a demon, unable to laugh or shed tears. They claimed he was heartless.

I have to say, I didn't feel too much remorse at seeing them hang. They shouldn't have spoken without knowing who they were speaking of.

As the dissent gradually increased, I became more and more busy, until it seemed Felix had finally given up on his plans to quiet all of the rebels.

"It's impossible now," he said off-handedly, trying to act as if a few rebels was nothing.

I stayed in the castle from that point on, taking over the duties of the servants who fled in fear of the encroaching rebel armies. Throughout it all, Felix showed no sign of worry. He seemed convinced this hating-the-king fad would pass.

"I'll just wait it out," he said.

Eventually, I was the only one left. The only one who still believed that this was something that would one day vanish. Those days went by in silence - if he ever spoke, it was to issue a command. Dinner. Cleaning. Fetch this, put this back.

I snuck out one day, while the king was sleeping. I needed to know what was occuring outside of the castle walls. What I heard was planning. Plans to dethrone the king, plans to switch to a democracy like they had done in the country next door.

Plans to kill the king.

I ran back to the castle as quickly as I could upon hearing of this plan, this heresy. When I entered, Felix was sitting on his throne, a distraught expression on his face. As I approached, he looked up, and seemed genuinely surprised to see me standing there. He made a quick attempt to regain his composure, but then he seemed to remember I was just a lowly servant, and relaxed.

"You came back," he said. I ignored him. My heart pounded in my chest.

"They're going to kill you," I said.

"Yes, I know," he said, and this time, he let a small, troubled expression cross his face. "That's what the rabble does when it's upset. They kill the king." He seemed so resigned to his fate, and I realized he must have known this from the start.

"But you don't have to die," I said. "You know about this in advance, right? You can just escape..." He laughs, but it's a bitter laugh.

"They need a body, Miles. They need to kill somebody. My head is as good as anyone's." He was talking to me as if I were an idiot, which isn't uncommon. But even I could see the hidden message behind his words.

He'd given up.

I don't regret my decision, now, as I walk away from the castle and into unknown territory. It's too late for regret now.

I take in a deep breath of air as I walk into the crowded streets. A pathway as been cleared for me already, and it doesn't take the pushing of the guards to move me forward on this path. How fitting it is, I muse, that these people won't know the truth in the end.

I continue to march forward, my head held high, despite the weight of these unfamiliar clothes upon me. The king's clothes are much too big for a servant such as me, but the villagers are fooled. Proof of their stupidity. They can't even identify the man they wish to kill.

It's almost fitting, I guess. I had sent many a man to his death myself, through my words. They were hung for false words, so now their comrades will earn the death of a fake king.

Now I find myself standing up on the platform of the guillotine. A man is standing there - I'm fairly certain he's the leader of the rebellion. He looks at me straight in the eyes and smirks. He's enjoying my last moments.

"So, the great King Felix! Do you have any last words for your people?" he booms, making my ears ring. He says the word "great" with such intense sarcasm that I laugh. What a horrible time for laughing, but I laugh. The laughter shakes through my body, unleashing all sorts of emotions.

"The great King Felix," I shout, though my pathetic voice has no chance of matching his. I stop short, and inhale sharply. I want to cry.

But kings don't cry. Not even fake kings.

I continue.

"The great King Felix has nothing to say to these scum." I say it quieter this time, but the crowd is silent, and it's obvious they can still hear my voice, for seconds later, they are in an uproar. I start to laugh again as I am shoved into the slot assigned for my head. But I find myself crying as well, and tears streak my face. I would use a hand to brush them away, but my hands are tied behind my back.

I can hear the blade of the guillotine being raised slowly, and my heart begins to pound. I realize now that I am going to die. My blood will forever stain the wood my neck is now encased in. Oh, they'll think it's royal blood they're spilling. How rich! The idiot townspeople, tricked until the end. In the history books they'll record King Felix as having died at age seventeen when he will have lived on far past such a date.

This is a trick, I tell myself. A practical joke. I continue to chuckle, even as the blade begins to descend.

Oh, they'll think he was mad.

THUNK.

For a moment, I am aware of being unaware of my body.

Then I blissfully fade away.

------------

Felix wakes up that morning with the feeling that something is amiss. He sits up in bed, rubbing away at his eyes as sunlight streams through the window. Ah, he thinks. That must be it. Miles didn't wake me up on time.

The king is fairly certain that today will be his last - he had speculated it for a while, and the word he had recieved last night from Miles only proved his theory. He had been expecting it, been preparing for it. He is ready to march up to the guillotine and die with as much dignity as managable in such a circumstance.

But there is still one last thing to do.

"Miles!" The king calls the name of his only remaining servant, but recieves no answer. He frowns and slides out of bed, throwing aside the lavish covers. His bare feet touch the floor - hard and cold - and he tries again. "Miles!"

No response.

Felix is troubled by this for a moment and glances around the room, unsure of what to do. His eyes catch a letter which has been left on the bedside table - something which was certainly not there the night before. He reaches over and carefully unfolds it. He recognizes his servant's sloppy, unsophisticated handwriting.

"I am terribly sorry," it began, "but I have to leave you. The threats of death against the crown are too much for me to bear. I would have told you in person, but I'm sure that, with the conditions surrounding my departure, you would have refused to let me leave. I am grateful to you, however. Even though I was beneath you, you treated me like a friend and even taught me to write. I'm sure no other prince in the world would have done such a thing. The accusations against you must be false - I know this for a fact. I still want you to escape. I found some commoner's clothes which should fit you and left them at the foot of the bed." Sure enough, with a glance, Felix could see the clothes. "If you wear those, they shouldn't be able to recognize you."

Felix sighed and shook his head. Miles was still being naive - had he not paid attention last night? Without a body, they would simply begin to search for him. And with the rebel army large as it was, they were destined to find him one day. He continued to read.

"I'm indebted to you, really. I'd always wished that you were my true older brother somehow, but of course, you're above me. What is there to say? This is my last favor to you. You provided me with some semblance of a family, so I'll provide them with the body.

Ever your humble servant,
Miles"

Felix felt his heart stop. The rest went by in a flash. He threw on the commoner's clothes, checked his wardrobe - sure enough, the crown and one of his outfits were missing - and ran outside. A crowd had already gathered outside of the castle. He wanted desperately to push through, but the crowd was too thick. There were shouts and jeers, and as he reached the spot where he could see what was going on, the "king" was already standing on the platform, flanked by two soldiers. The rebel leader stood in front of him, a sneer across his face.

"So, the great King Felix! Do you have any last words for your people?" he booms. Felix cringes, wondering how nobody can see that the boy up there is just that - a boy. A commoner who had done no harm to the country. Were they really so blind that they couldn't see how his clothes draped off of his body? How could they possibly think that any king would hold himself in such a slouched posture? Miles is laughing. This does little to ease the heaviness Felix feels in his chest.

"The great King Felix," the "king" begins to shout, but his voice cracks at the end, and he has to restart the sentence. "The great King Felix has nothing to say to these scum."

The last part is said so quietly that the true Felix almost misses it.

The king watches with horror as they shove his loyal servant into the guillotine. He can see the servant's shoulders shaking, and even from here, Felix can see the tears pouring from his eyes.

The blade raises, and the king opens his mouth to stop this injustice. However, even as he does so, he envisions his own body up there, his own neck about to be sliced in two.

Felix finds he's gone mute.

He watches the blade fall.