That precious few days where the realisation that he had to obey if he even wished to entertain hope. The theory of dialectical materialism was in ascension and the violent uprising of the proletariat was going to sweep all before it in an incoming red tide, a tide of blood. All his power and hopes were now confined to the cell where he was given time to realize how he had failed to quench the insatiable desires of his Empress. The Emperor, Constantine the sixth, expired and breathed his last. One side carried the face of his mother, the Empress Irene, with the orb of the Imperator in her hands. It was a magisterial progress, a moment for all to hold their breath and hope that they were not to be singled out for her very special attention in the next hour.
