There were no tears to be seen, the only emotion, regret. The young man kneeling on the polished bamboo floor was one born into a life of honour in glory, a life of expectation in defeat. The ritual blade was removed from its golden sheath.
Outside birds sang in the trees. Weeping willows trailed frost covered branches into still, ornamental ponds. A lone servant stood by the door – his head bowed in respectful silence.
A trail of bright crimson trickled across polished bamboo.
From the far side of the courtyard the new emperor’s morning tears echoed through the misty gardens.
These words form my entry into Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.