She fidgets on the hard wooden seat of her electric throne, wrists leashed, surrounded by an elite group of subjects. Each subject is rightfully chosen for this moment - this is not like the typical public declarations made in recent months.
Anxiety wells up in her chest, causing her heart to pound fiercely. She glares up at the flickering fluorescent light above, its cold white glow casting shadows on her somber royal eyes.
She lowers her head, feeling the weight of her leather crown. The damp sponge beneath it weeps tears of salt water onto her shaved head. If her eyes weren't taped shut, the sting of the salty tears would be unbearable. The clock strikes 12:01 a.m. and the executioner throws the switch.
Wow! Very intriguing.