Wow, I let myself type whatever I want for ten minutes and I come up with THIS?!

Warning: DARK, misanthropic, sad, blah.

The men gathered about, so stupidly, so ignorantly. One from each country, one man from every superpower that existed stood around her table. A bell was rung.

A smile came to her lips, friendly and inviting, and they all sat politely. She opened that sickly sweet rose thorn mouth to speak, and from the end of the table, someone else did it for her. “Look,” He laughed. He was a portly man, his hair was balding and white. He had a plaid suit on, and he straightened it. “Little lady,” He spoke with that accent. That terrible, terrible accent. “We think it's all fine and good what you're trying to do here. We think your surrender is so fitting of your situation.”

Another piped up. “We estimate you lost fifteen thousand lives in the last battle of York, is that right?”

She spoke so clearly and quietly, it was almost like a machine. Ironic. “Twenty thousand,” She corrected. There was an amused murmur around the table. One of her human prisoners of war, a man serving his sentence through servitude, scooted forward and whispered something in that man's ear, something that made him laugh.

“This boy,” He said. “This boy is asking me to save him, bring him out of here,” The boy's sudden fear and anxiety that stunk up the room made it clear. “The press would hate to know you're treating prisoners of war badly, especially when they're your own species.”

She didn't say a word, smiling respectfully.

“I doubt you want that negative publicity,” He continued.

“I don't care for publicity,” She replied.

“Oh but you will,” He countered. “When our troops gain morale because of it. You will experience losses beyond your comprehension, little lady. What could you possibly have to say to that?”

She craned her head to the side, a thoughtful look on her face as she said, “I'd say kill.”

The beasts responded to her command before their victims could. Weapons were drawn, a shot was fired, the guns shining child screeching forward at her. A fox, looking rabid, took it through the side and fell to the floor, and when she knelt down to hold it, she heard the commotion in the room escalate.

As she stood, the dead, beautiful fox in her arms, she found the others were dead as well. The leaders of men from every corner of the world were dead, murdered, on her very doorstep. She lay the fox on the table, brushed the fur from its eyes, and wished it a good night. It was much more beautiful than they, such a lovely color, and what a beautiful soul to give to her own. How sad it would be gone, she thought.

She stepped outside, taking a lighter from a nearby human guard, flicking it on, and tossing it into the tent.

How beautifully they all burned together.