Toil For Me

A chill runs down your spine as you enter the grand estate, a symbol of my opulent lifestyle. You are not a guest here, but a worker, a loyal subject whose sweat and toil contribute to my growing wealth. The stone walls of your cell are cold and bare, a stark contrast to the lavish luxuries that your labour affords me. Every brick in the mansion, every thread in the plush carpets, every glinting chandelier, is a testament to my wealth, and a reminder of your servitude.