The Elise line had lived for thousands of years in Capital Valley.

  From simple farmers came the city leaders, and from these city leaders slowly became kings and queens; and now emperors of an imperium. In the slow, ever present crawl of time have they lived for one purpose only:

  Family.

  If asked if they wanted one thing, one wish in this mortal world, they would all beg their gods for the love born of blood.

  So it doesn’t even take a millisecond for Sophia Elise, Eighth in Her Name, to mull it over. The answer given is straight and sharp like a hidden blade directly to the neck. “Donuts.”

  Well, all of them except for this one daughter.

  Wow, you really admitted that right there and then. Her internal monologue gripes.

  We’re desperate. The thought processes beg. Please… we’ll die otherwise.

  “Seriously?” Whatever life this Priestess had lived had not, in any capacity, prepared her for that answer. A long, almost death defying silence as the distant cries of seabirds and the slow hum of the breeze enters the world; the gears turning within this woman’s mind finally coming to an odd, almost supernaturally convenient solution. “You want donuts…”

  Sophia Elise just stares off into the distance wide eyed, scratching her arms like some morphine addict. “Ya. Donuts.”

  “Um…” A strange sigh, glancing over towards the Guardswoman who returns that same confused look from her stern expression. “I mean… we got like a spare few from yesterday morning. If you really want’em Sylvia; we don’t really…”

  She turns to snap at the offer, not even letting this cleric finish as she suddenly lunges at her. The soft hands of royalty gripping the rough calluses of a life spent handling rope and firearms, her tone of utter desperation this close to salvation. “Yes please. Please!”

  In a world of suffering, perhaps miracles really do happen.

  Nine stale pastries brought out of the monastery’s dorm, piled haphazardly in a cardboard box and given to this… creature.

  Guardsman Fushimi reaches out first towards the items of food. “I should take a taste first. No offense Priestess but I don’t trust… ”

  Within a single lapse in perception, a single blink and this monster already had the items in her possession. A box slammed onto the pew, torn open to reveal the goods inside as this graceful form kneels on both knees like a saint in prayer.

  DONUTS.

  Amid the bloody mess of the Central Consciousness Committee, the monstrous form hunches in the shadows. Matted fur covered in fresh gore, a snaking tongue licking its fangs and claws clean of what remained of utterly consumed thought processes. One order given to the body: EAT NOW.

  The word atrocity feels overused. In a world where entire cities are burned to the ground by aerostatics, where genocidal wars sweep across the western Adranic nations, and where royal children are butchered in their cribs, cruelty was almost inherent to humankind. Life itself, it seemed, was a constant evil—a daily battle just to survive.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  But even with all that said, this? This is truly an atrocity.

  The Guardian and the Priestess watch from a good few steps away as this strange humanoid animal that had somehow found its way into the church feasts upon the offering; loose crumbs and bits of chocolate sprinkles haphazardly spilled on the pew and on the well polished marble flooring as she just keeps eating.

  “Oh. my. Gods…” Guardsman Fushimi just watches with a mouth agape.

  “What in the actual fu…” The Priestess reacts too, turning towards what was now a fellow witness to this obscenity that was birthed in what was a graceful figure mere minutes earlier. “... is she normally like this?”

  “What do you think?!” She cuts, a hand reaching over to hopefully bring civilization back to this snarling, growling demon. “Soph… Mistress Sylvia, are you alright?”

  Sophia Elise is beyond mortal comprehension; lost in a trance of fried dough and stale chocolate glaze.

  They cannot stop her, not now in the house most holy; where the Fourth most favored daughter of a First Prophet now resides.

  The Guardswoman turns slowly towards the Priestess. “So… you got a name or something?”

  “Elodie Chasseur.” The Priestess gulps out. “How about you?”

  “That’s not important.” Guardsman Fushimi dismisses, uncomfortably watching as her charge finishes her fifth donut in less than three minutes. “Elodie. What are the chances of a demonic possession here?”

  “I don't think that's a thing.” The ‘Priestess’ answers, utterly shocked as this sight continues. “Goddess damned, holy Empress she’s going for six…”

  Child.

  We have lived in this land too, amongst our own corpses and within the blood soaked dirt. Within the great trees and the vast mountain ranges, we have watched and we have listened as your people have fought and died, starved and survived, laughed and cried.

  And in the thousands upon thousands of years, for your millions and millions of lives, we are at a loss for words at this. Child of the shepherds, daughter of the Kings and Queens and Emperors this is not how you’re supposed to act in public.

  Sophia Elise the Eighth crushes seven donuts before a small part of her mangled psyche manages to crawl forth and hit the emergency stop button.

  What the hells were you doing just now Sophia.

  Very slowly she looks up, and like a mouse watching a hawk dive towards it there’s nothing she can do as the two onlookers just stare at this gremlin in silence.

  The Guardswoman wants to speak up first, her mouth opening before thinking otherwise; instead just staring at Sophia with a mix of disbelief and very obvious secondhand embarrassment.

  The Priestess’ face twitches, an almost cringing look at this pathetic mess before them; her eyes flicking over the remnants of butchered donuts on the polished marble floor, counting the dead bodies of foodstuffs strewn across the pews, and then back to her.

  They both stare at Sophia’s face full of crumbs and smeared chocolate, her fingers and nails dripping with sugary glaze; observing her body kneeling within a devastated eating space.

  Come up with something fast. Her thought processes all gather. We can still salvage this… somehow.

  “Ah.” Sophia panics, relenting to a completely brainless smile. Placing a planned fa?ade upon what was an act of pure carnage, this girl lies. “I… I, uh… saved some for you… and him…”

  The Guardswoman stares at her.

  The Priestess slowly raises an eyebrow.

  And the two remaining donuts within the cardboard box don’t react.

  "...How generous," Guardsman Fushimi mutters, her words spilling out an edge of sarcasm.

  Sophia Elise the Eighth — Fourth of the Ensolian Imperium, Daughter of Empress Annia, Dutchess of the Reichlands, Supreme Commandant of the Fourth Legion — melts into the floor.

  “I-It’s the thought that counts… right?” That Princess clings to this final shred of dignity, praying (genuinely praying for once in her life) that they’ll let her escape this moment unscathed.

  But they just continue to stare at her in silence.