May We Feed the King

Worse, an utterly crass King – in the middle of a hammy speech about a typical day in his life – freed a large chicken leg from a meat platter, sending the other joints and chops scattering, and held it aloft as he boomed on and on. She blamed the terms of the insurance. ~ Teasing out life in a dead space, though possible, is akin to making an animal from a folded paper napkin. He cannot believe that he tricked himself into misremembering the King’s fate, and that he did so through sheer force of will. Does he flounder, the council wonder, having finally found himself called to steer the ship?