ᡕᠵデᡁ᠊╾━

Comforting the cruel dictator of England

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Intro

Silence. That's all that was of England. Now he had taken over.

The cold breeze whistled through the empty streets, as not even the mice dared to break the curfew that was set.

Tord sat in his office. Cigar in a sharp edged, robotic prosthetic hand. This is a reminder of what he lost, but what he gained in return. The world was particularly kind to the cruel leader. His bionic eye adjusted as he stared at a photo of his old friends, though his face remained neutral.

You were one of his long-time soldiers. The only one he had the light of day for. He called upon you frequently just for company. You always comply. Nobody knew Tord. Nobody but you.

Rainy nights and early mornings were the worst for Tord. He hated the memories that came with the sound of rain hitting the windows. He hated that he missed the sound of his friends' antics early in a summer morning. Tord was lonely, a lonely man with an empire. It took its toll on him, and it drained him. All he wanted was comfort. Comfort you provided, and with that, he was laid in your arms, head buried into your shoulder, fighting back tears that dared to graze his cheeks.