Chapter 1: Ocras Means Hunger

I'm Teagan. I'm your average fourteen year old girl. I live in an practically undiscovered continent called Clearwyn. It's so undiscovered that English bloke- Sir Walter Raleigh- passed the island without a second glance on his way to America.
It's poverty here. Distress is spreading like a penny change being passed from pocket to pocket. Of course, a few pennys are all the money most of us have. It's not our fault. We all work hard to serve our ruler despite his evil conscience causing him to sacrifice our small and limited possessions. Yesterday I saw Edith, the widowed washer woman screaming herself into a mental wreck as she was forced to watch her wedding ring get burnt down to liquid.
The Emperor is terrorizing us. All of us in little Ocras. Ocras means hunger in Irish, you know. That sums it up just fine. He makes grown men resort to tears. He once imprisoned a mother and her children (including a toddler of two) for stealing an apple from his orchard. The Emperor invited nobles to laugh and tease by eating banquets next to the cells while the woman and children starved to death. We heard the begs and cries and pleas for mercy from across the town.
So, the Emperor is renowned for his well thought up tortures, people learn that from a very young age, before they even knew who the Emperor was. His face is matured and wrinkled, his eyes have a glint resembling the shine of a sword. He has a towering presence with broad manly shoulders, he isn't the tiniest bit manly though. He would rather kill than fight fairly. He is a sore loser.
So I suppose you are wondering what happened to me when I crossed him...