Writing exercise

Castle:
       Past the treacherous moat one might find, a castle, a fortress of will. Through the towering doors of this magnificent building one would see a large room, the far reaches of which are not completely visible.
   Several grand staircases can be seen through-out the commons, towering over one's head. Going up one of them one might find narrow hallways equipped with doors upon doors. They line the walls, beckoning to anyone in their sight. Once one has chosen which door to thrust open, there are a variety of sceneries one might be greeted with. The luxurious bedroom of the king and queen; dank prison cells where one might be tortured physically by another or mentally rot away; one might be greeted with a monastery of sorts or perhaps a knight's room, filled with mountains of armor, all in pristine condition, and a surplus of deadly weapons. One might find the dining hall, complete with a ridiculously but accommodatingly long table decked with the kingdom's finest silverware and platters. If one were to walk into this environment at just the right time, these platters could be flashing images of the plumpest and fullest meat, the most juicy fruits available to the royal chef, and many other delectable pastries. 
   But going back to the castle commons, if one were to walk down the room, one would eventually come to the royal thrones of the rulers, standing tall and luxurious. Or perhaps if one were to chose just the right staircase to venture up, one would find one's self at the top of one of the castle's many towers, where the view of the kingdom is so absolutely breathtaking, one will find on one's trip back down to the commons that one's mind still lingers atop the tower. 

   Ah, the lone burglar. He stalks though the empty castle, scouring for the treasury. 
   He goes through the commons on light feet. He stops in front of the thrones to spit on the ground before it. He then gingerly pulls up the lavish carpet to reveal a trap door. He heaves it open and drops through it.
   He lands at the bottom with a thud, but recovers quickly, answering to the call of the treasure.
   It towers before him, however wrong he knows theft may be, the loot convinces him otherwise with a beckoning finger. 
   He opens his bag, stuffing golden trinkets carelessly into it.
   Once he is sure he can carry no more, he turns back to cleverly escape. However, he stops in his tracks realizing there is no way back to the commons. 
   He staggers backwards and spins around, mouth agape, searching for an alternative exit. although there is no other apparent means of escape, he runs around the dark room until he foolishly falls into a trap pit and gets knocked unconscious when he reaches the bottom.

   The burglar lay on his back, facing his punishment. The cold concrete sends a shiver up his spine. He cannot determine whether he is conscious or not. Metallic footsteps sound in the distance. The burglar drags himself into a painful upright position. 
   A guard's peering head can be seen from the bottom of the pit where the burglar sits. The guard lets a gasp escape his mouth. His head draws back and the footsteps take its place as far as sensory is concerned. 
   After several painful minutes have passed, a rope hits the burglar on the top of his head. Soon the guard lowers himself quickly down the rope and hauls the burglar (and his heavy bag of attempted stolen trinkets) to the ledge of the pit and drag themselves up the the floor. 
   They speed up to the commons, up just the right staircase, down a narrow corridor, through the heavy doors of the dungeons, and into the darkest, smallest, and most poorly constructed cell out of the whole lot. The guard quickly locks the burglar away and takes off to go report his findings to the king.
   Although the burglar is still a bit groggy, he still has enough sense to pick up a nearby metal bar and begin smashing holes into the back wall of the cell.
   Once a good enough sized hole to fit through has been created, the out-of-it burglar looks down to the grass outside (at least 8 stories down) and decides to leap to the bottom for his daring escape.
   He hits the dew covered ground, not even trying to land on his feet what so ever, with a sickening crack and never gets up.

   The guard gasps at the sight of the dead burglar and draws his head back inside the building. He worries himself with what  to tell the king. He knows how much the king wanted this man imprisoned. He has known that this man has been a menace to the kingdom for several years now.
   The guard guesses that the only thing he can do now is bury the body. Or perhaps he could preserve the carcass to publicly burn at the stake for the king's enjoyment. That ought to lighten his spirits.
   He runs out the door to go fetch the body. Once he spots it, he very begrudgingly picks it up in his arms. He can't help but notice the gruesome smile on the criminal's face. He winces and pulls away from the corpse.
   He finally gets it upstairs and tosses it in front of the king. The king gives out a little yell and demands to know why this man is dead. The guard explains that it seems he was clever enough to sneak into the castle undetected, smart enough to figure out how to steal some of the castle's treasure, sharp enough to deduce how to break out of his cell, but couldn't properly determine how to land without breaking his neck.
   The king gives a chuckle at this retort and asks the guard if he has thought of any plans for the body while he was contemplating these entertaining riddles of his.
   The guard reports that he does in fact have a suggestion. He offers his idea of publicly burning it at the stake, and the king gives his hands one grand clap.  He exclaims that this will indeed be the final destiny for the body.
   The king calls for a squire and one quickly comes to attention. The king asks for him to ready a stake for which a body to be publicly burned at and the squire eagerly complies. He quickly goes down to the storage rooms and grabs as much lumber as  he can carry. Once he drags it to town square he begins requesting villagers assistance in setting up the stake.
   After the stake is successfully put up, he then tells his accomplices to spread the news of the burning. They loyally set off to tell their neighbors. 
   The squire turns to go back to the castle and fetch the body. He sprints to the building, excited to finally get some resolution from the crimes this man has committed. 
   Once he gets there, he requests the help of some of his colleagues to get the body to town square. 
   All is in order to start the burning. The guard lights a torch and brings it into contact with the wood and the straw at the feet of the corpse. As soon as the flames touch the feet of the convict the whole body quickly begins to roast.
   Some villagers van stand the stench no longer and hold their nose.
   The king lets a demented smile show itself on his face as he watches the criminal burn among his subjects. The king thinks that it is just for this man's life to be taken from him him since he unfairly stole the queen's life from her. The king remembers when he forced the queen to break off the affair between herself and the criminal. That night, the man decided that since the queen broke his heart, he was going to break hers, but in a more literal fashion. 
   The king recalls discovering the queen's pale body in the royal chambers. That day, he swore to himself that he would get his revenge.

   The cruel monarch stands up, sickly laughing and applauding as the body slowly melted before the crowd. "Yes!" he shouted, encouraging his subjects to join in his approval. When no one did, he cast a glare across the gathering until the uneducated villagers picked up the threat.
   The crowd clapped in unison, however their voices were silent. The only cheers that were heard were the ones from the king.
   When most of the carcass had finished burning and the flame had completely extinguished, the king stood up to return to the castle. However, he was the only one ready to pack up.
   "Aren't we going to properly bury Geoffrey, Sire?" squeaked the guard, voicing everyone's thoughts.
   The king's voice rung out above above all other sounds, and the clapping died out immediately.
   How dare you speak that creature's name in my presence, you filthy idiot! I ought to have you burned for your stupidity!" The king's face was completely purple by this time and his fists were tightly balled up at his sides. His arms were so rigidly tight they looked like they were about to break.
   "You"re right, Sire. My sincerest apologies! You have every right to do away with me right this second, your Holiness-"
   "If you don't shut your rattling mouth right this damn second, I will most certainly exercise my rights as your overlord, you pathetic rat of a man!" The king then walked over to the bones still left hanging from the stake, and spat right on them. A few women's voices could be heard gasping.
   "Shut your traps clucking wenches! I will have all of you burned! I WILL have my way! I RULE YOU!" The king was practically jumping up and down with rage now. The king ordered his guards to escort him back to the castle and they were quick to comply. The townspeople were confused on what to do as the king made his way back to the castle. Eventually, they all just returned to their previous tasks. A few people stopped in front of the body to bow their heads or recite a prayer. 
   The king sat on his throne, clutching his armrests to the point where his knuckles were white. The head guard made the mistake of approaching the king, which he was punished for. The king grabbed his scepter lunged at the man, plunging the glorified stick into the man's chest. 
   The guard hit the floor with a thud, turning the faces of the other subjects whiter than the bones of poor Geoffrey. The king sat back down, shutting his eyes. How unfortunate that there were no royal psychiatrists available. 
   A few moments later a squire approached the king, literally shaking.
   "What am I to do with the body, my lord?"
   "Leave it to be picked and torn at by whatever fowl choses it a suitable meal."
   The squire heaved a sigh, relieved that his life had been spared. He turned to leave, but his confidence pushed him to ask one more thing.
   "Are you alright, my lord?"
   "No, Stevens, I am afraid I am not truthfully in a pleasant state of mind." 
   "Is there anything i can do to help you, Sire?" 
   Remember when I mentioned that sarcastic bit about a Royal psychiatrist? Well, this poor soul was about to be the compensation for the lack of his profession with the utterance of his next sentence.
   "Would- Would you like to talk about it, my lord?" The king then opened his tired eyes and looked at the squire.This was the first look Stevens ever got into the king's mind and soul. What he saw would haunt him until his last breath. He saw death and hate tangled together, intertwined in a dance of cruelty. He saw burning children, still alive as they smoldered. He saw the queen sinking into darkness. Before Stevens could peer any farther, he broke the eye contact. Stevens clutched his chest, taking audible, shaking gasps. He bent his knees a little and closed his eyes. He couldn't believe what he had just been able to see.
   Stevens, still clutching his chest, took one last breath and collapsed on the floor. It turns out he couldn't handle the king's troubles. And that is why there were no royal psychiatrist. 
                           The end.