Ambrosia watched the flakes of ice stack around the castle. Vivid blue hues devoid of any true emotion as the announcement lit across the kingdoms. Viceroy, again? She glances down to the scrolls and notes scattered across the desk. How could they celebrate Spring? Revival? With this weather outside? Secfenia had to know. The mages knew, she whispered to herself as she cuddled the morning juice potion close to her bust. She had been so hopeful for Bravia years ago before she left for North of North Fenia. Staring at the town square was like looking at a graveyard not visited. During her visit as Finance Minister she made sure to restock the flower on her brother and sister's grave, but it was evident that the graves around them lacked life. It was all dead.
Licking her lips, she made a decision flickering from view near the fireplace in her office. The chill creeps across her shoulder, but the cold is what she was bore into. There were more tombstones that belonged to Bravia of those dead politicians that left her, herself included, to die. But she remembers her own final address to the Republic and her warning. The plague of apathy had only been corrected in her absence as far as she could tell for a short time. A hand tediously twirls a black curl around a pale finger. Ambrosia paused before she started her speech finding an object to help drill the message that the people had forgotten.
The Republic was a mortal, and the time had ran thin. Frozen fingers hook around the handle of the shovel, and she trecks forward to strike against the snow in the ground.
"People of Bravia. I'm your new viceroy for a time, and this shouldn't have happened. I'm going to make this address as simple as I can, because I doubt any of you creatures are actually listening to me. I loved the Republic, but I did indeed leave her. We are sorting a festival of sorts, but let it be known. You have twenty-eight days."
She taks a deep breath and watches the warm smog blow out in front of her. Picking away the snow and winter grass underneath it with the shovel in hand.
"Either you wake up, Bravia. Or else we will hold a funeral for the Republic as we know it. Do Nothing and put on your best attire for the funeral. I'll even start the grave, since it seems no one even knows how to plant a garden to honor the dead. So we're on the same page, March 8. It will either be a day like no other, or else the Republic will be plagued with morose.We will hold a funeral for her here. I won't kill her. The council in place won't kill her. It will be, you. Here lies the Republic, and here lies you the people with her."