A* Description: The Castle by Cyrus
Sarah O'Rourke - Mar 31, 2026
Read the high-scoring sample written by a real student, Cyrus, and shared with permission.
Video lesson
The Castle
Jagged precipices enveloped the crumbling castle, with crimson red streams flowing through the valley. The Earth shook in fear of the impending doom, bringing several towers down with it. The castle stood out amongst the destruction, just barely having survived the first round of obliteration. Galloping sounds neared the castle, where knights once trained, but now, where they slept, forever. A lonely king sat by himself on one of the castle towers, watching the chaos unfold. Gripping his shattered sword in his weathered hands, his gaze slowly rose upwards, revealing an imminent storm drifting toward him. The large cluster of clouds rumbled as they crept closer and closer, threatening to bring the sky down with it. As the last silver line from the clouds disappeared, all went dark.
Corpses burnt to ash; power bled into shame; stone crumbled to dust.
The abandoned king opened his eyes again and peers beneath him, where countless lifeless bodies of his formerly great army lay. The smell of their rotting flesh and stale blood reminded the king of not gore, but what they fought for: freedom. He looks far away, where his last standing soldiers have been placed. The light in the king’s eyes fades away, as he observed the stale blood shed upon his once revered castle walls. Wild winds carved their way through the king’s weathered face, as the soldiers’ screams echoed in the king’s head, reminding him of his former regal honour.
He heard a large thump beneath him, informing him that his final sentinel, too, has perished. The moat of the castle had been dyed a crimson red, mocking its uselessness in protecting the king. The drawbridge that previously loomed over the moat, had been burnt to a crisp. His castle was nothing but a shell of what it used to be. Without a kingdom, what good was a king?
The night sky was the heavens. The moon was god’s eye. And, whenever the moon turned blood red, it was the lord, weeping. The stars were the angels, ever changing their position in the night sky, continuing to observe the descendants of those who ate the forbidden fruit: Adam and Eve. The stars linked to form large celestial bodies. Constellations, as the mortals called them. They were like a large bird cage, trapping those who breathed within the protection Earth’s atmosphere. Each shooting star was a fallen angel, banished from heaven. Several were observed during the height of the war, each one representing the increasing suffering emanating from the kingdom. The devil clawed at the heavens, causing an enormous slash mark. To this day, the distant galaxies still appear as though they are getting larger and larger, as the devil continues to tunnel his way back into the heavens. It was almost as though the demonic essence was leaking through the crack, enveloping the decaying kingdom.
Desolation and grief enshrouded what little was left of the castle. The courtyard, once a place of celebration, is now a graveyard, with corpses of the fallen laid out over the cold, hard ground. The king stumbled through the charred remains of his legacy, his footsteps echoing through the empty space. He looks up to see the banners, torn and tattered, fluttering in the wind like ghostly wraiths.
Blackened clouds tumbled nearer as rain drops the size of fists fell from the sky, pelting the blanket of rubble and ruins of what was left of the kingdom. As the dense fog cleared, a stealthy and deceitful enemy scout closed in, an abyssal Raven, scanning the remains of the castle. Its dreadful and ominous screeches seeming to call upon the devil, indicating the impending doom of the castle. The splintered wooden door indicated several powerful blows from enemy forces. The beast flew past the battered door, to see a derelict banquet room. Chairs and tables overturned, rotting food scattered everywhere, with swarms of large flies circling the rancid dishes. The force of its wingbeat created gusts of wind, blowing human remains out of the castle windows in the tonnes.
If the ground was a canvas, then the painters would be the enemy soldiers, and the paint would be the blood of the king’s army. Corpses littered the ground, giving the painting a unique texture. Such a magnificent painting, which only a king could admire.
Consumed by the enormity of his loss, he felt the full weight of his crown, once a symbol of power and authority, now a burden of sorrow and regret. Melancholy pierce through his heart, the silence punctuated only by his screams of despair.
What good is a king without a kingdom?
He fought, he wept, he died.
The castle, once a symbol of strength and resilience, now stands as a monument to the fragility of life and the transient nature of power. With defeat all throughout the kingdom, the king’s final moments will prove a stark reminder of the fleeting nature of humanity’s pathetic existence.
