The Boy watched the Prince from afar. He watched the Prince as he grew tall like a tree, towering over the Boy.

The Boy sat silently behind the Prince, watching him manipulate the world around him, hiding his ugly secrets, beautifying himself to the Others.

But as the Boy watched, he could see the little monster festering inside the Prince; the kicking and screaming little piggy, waiting to unleash its wrath.

They loved the Prince. It made the Boy sick, sick, sick. But he bid his time. He was the one who was going to be King. He was the one who should have been Prince first.

Why not? Why not?

Because the voices in his head, the ones they all hated, though they let the Boy see clearly what They could not.

But he’d wait. He’d wait and wait and wait.

Because when he was King, it would rain down, washing away the “Prince.” Off with his head, off with his head. It sounded so nice already.

So what if the Prince and the Others didn’t remember his name? They would.

They would.