With the guards gone, it was easy for Antonio to slip into the front door of the castle without being noticed. He walked up the long, winding stairs to Sycorax's chamber. The queen herself had a cold that day, and was sleeping peacefully in her bedroom.
The night of the murder, a storm had picked up. Even hundreds of years later, it was remembered because the sky was on fire. The clouds were black, red, and dark gray, fat and pregnant with rain. It poured down in sheets, leaving six inches of rain on the street in one night. Wind whipped the sky, blowing over trees, houses, almost everything in it's path. Lighting cracked. Thunder boomed. The lighting illuminated the windows of the stairwell as Antonio climbed.
He reached the top and silently squeaked open the door of the chamber. There Sycorax lay, sleeping peacefully. Antonio crept over to her bed and picked up a statue on her bedside table. He lifted it up over his head, intending to bash her head in.
Suddenly, a flash of light hit Antonio's hand and blasted the statue out of it. It flew across the room and hit the wall with a clang. He turned around, eyes wild, at the doorway, where Prospero stood, his hand outstretched. "I know what you intend to do, brother." He said in a low voice. "And I intend to stop you."
With a yell, Antonio outstretched his hand and flung a dark ray at Prospero's chest. Prospero went flying across the room and hit the wall with a crack. Antonio lunged for the statue, but Prospero was as quick as he was magical. He slammed into Antonio, knocking him over. They tumbled on the floor, rolling and scratching at each other's faces. Antonio, desperate for his plan to not unravel, pulled out one of his risked spells. He threw Prospero into a corner and shot a purple ray at him. Prospero's eyes rolled into the back of his head and he was out cold.
Snarling, Antonio snatched the statue off the floor and went over to the bed, were Sycorax still slept, oblivious to the fight going on. He raised the statue over his head and brought it down. Blood flew in a spray on the wall, ceiling, and bed. He brought it down again. And again. And again.
Just then, a jet of hellish red light flew across the room and hit Antonio right in the head. Antonio screamed. He clawed at his face. He fell to the floor, convulsing. A minute later, he was a still as the corpse on the bed.
Sobbing, Prospero got up off the floor and went over to his queen. He slipped on the floor and got covered in blood. He sat on the wall, crying and covered in blood. He had killed his brother and had failed to protect his queen. Just then, the door burst open and Sycorax's servants, courtiers, and housekeepers came in. They only saw three things: Prospero covered in blood, Antonio dead far away from the bed, and the dead queen.
"MURDER!" a young maid screamed. The whole crowd rushed into the room, to tear Prospero to pieces. The sad, misinformed gang thought Prospero had killed the queen and Antonio had tried to stop him, and had died heroically in the act of trying.
Prospero disappeared with a cracking noise, as he teleported back to his house. The crowd, not knowing of the magic, screamed and ran out of the room. From that day on, Prospero was a wanted man and on the anniversary of the queen's death every year for a long while there was a storm.