Music

As I walk trough the slaves building the outer wall of the city; I see despair in their eyes, fear makes them tremble as my royal bodyguards trudge along my solemn walk. As my gaze fills them they stop building immersed by my greatness, fools, for I do not need to be looked at and with a single smirk the pain begins. Whips begin to crack, screams and blood, "Get back to work his lordship is not to be looked by the likes of you" the slave-masters holler. The sound of cracking whips upon bloody flesh what sweet music to my ears it is.