I am in a room, surrounded by the void of possibility.
At this point, I know not who I am.
It does not matter, for I am but a canvas of choices.
For each choice I make, a splash of color and chance flings itself upon me.
For each regret I have, the backdrop is painted in grey's and blacks.
In the end, I am but a canvas.
I return my focus to the room, noticing the pillars of attention focused on the three seats rising from the ground.
In front of me lie three Thrones, each more glorious and terrible than the last.
First, I see a Throne of Brass and Leather.
The leather is finely upholstered, and stuffed with cotton to comfort whoever sits upon it.
And yet, I can see bits of brass sticking out from the seat. They will always be there, causing minor pains to whoever so sits upon it.
The brass spikes move and change in the seat, making them impossible to avoid, and impossible to predict.
This is the Throne of Work and Pain.
Next, I see a Throne of Silver and Oak.
The oaken wood makes up the majority of the Throne, embossed with images of lives that should have been.
The silver is pressed into the arms of the Throne, giving the impression of nobility without anyone noticing what lies underneath.
This is the Throne of Ambition and Loss.
Finally, I see a Throne of Gold and Bones.
It is ironic that the most regal of Thrones is built upon the backs of those who worked in futility to obtain a throne of their own.
The gold is beautiful, yes, but at what cost did the gold come at?
This is the Throne of True Royalty.
Eventually, I make my choice.
My life will be painted with colors of the truest gold and most glorious blood.
My name begins to flow into my mind.
Arthur Pendragon. I suppose this name will do.
I am but a canvas, painted upon with only the finest colors.
And yet, if that is so, why is my background built upon the greatest of regrets?
I suppose I will find out when I begin living.