The Night of the Crawling in Cmin ————————————————————————— Wednesday, May 3, 1569. The blinding light of torches shining across the landscape grew brighter and brighter. Even the moon herself was envious of the shining ground which the armed soldiers tread upon with torches clenched in their hands. The army approached. Chiseled stone was swept away by the force of the marching soldiers. Cries of utter hatred for the innocent feline king, Bruce, whipped through the air. And when the feline king peered through his window, he knew his fate was sealed. “Wha- wh-what?” Bruce bellowed out in utter disbelief and sheer confusion. The echos of running soldiers just grew louder and louder. This was already enough torture. Bruce felt like he was there for hours. Suddenly, soldiers burst through the door. It seemed his moment of contemplation would not be the only thing cut short, for they brandished their blades. Yet, they simply grabbed Bruce and tied him to a wooden pole. Bruce was to be burned at the stake. Flames consumed the hay below the tall pole, as fire rose to the king’s ragged gown and set it alight with haste. Traumatized screams of terror and crawling agony echoed through the air. The queen of the soldiers grinned slyly as a deceased Bruce turned into ash. I suck at music so much
