Death can easily be administered to anyone regardless of how successful they were in life.
A god agrees with the nihilist in this story.
There are many tragedies in this story. Many fortunes arising, too.
But the god and the antichrist don't car...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
A Fortune Hangs
Beaumont Hall, Garçailles, Naparios
The famous bazaar had taken place on a fine day of turmoil. An entertainment, in connection with the same charity which Mikhailo Gray was to host this year, was being held that afternoon.
The annual charity event known as the Grand Fête had been organized by none other than Mikhailo Gray. It was scheduled to last four days and was held in the capital, Garçailles, where the aristocratic circles mingled. It was the biggest and most important city in Naparios. Furthermore, it was the cultural and political center of Naparios, being where the palais was located. The city was divided into two parts, one for the poor and one for the rich.
Mikhailo stood outside Beaumont Hall, waiting for Prince Cesare's carriage to arrive in front of the venue. He leaned on his umbrella as he took out his pocket watch, checking the hour. When he looked up, he expected a chauffeur-driven carriage to pull up, but instead, Cesare was driving his own motor.
Motors were uncommon, a fairly recent development in the automobile industry, and the prince's screamed wealth.
From the motor, Prince Alaric jumped out and ran to his older cousin. Mikhailo's eyes widened as the ten-year-old hugged him quite unexpectedly. After turning off the engine, Cesare got out of the motor and shook Mikhailo's hand.
"We're not late, are we?" Cesare asked.
Mikhailo gestured to the crowd of dozens waiting to get inside. "Oh, barely."
"How's it going?"
"Fantastic. They're halfway to calling the local police department about the signs of murderous tendencies." Mikhailo was making an attempt at banter, but if anything, Titus's eyes widened and the green undertones in his complexion became bolder.
Titus Cayne resembled a young buck, not yet fully grown, a bit graceless and in constant need of assistance. Mikhailo knew him very little to be able to tell if that first impression was false.
Titus kept to himself most of the time. He wasn't social much. Mikhailo didn't invite Titus, but he didn't mind the kid. Mikhailo wasn't friends with him, not as much as Cesare wished he was—or rather, they were friends through Cesare because they were both his cousins from different sides of his family. Mikhailo was from his father's side while Titus was from his mother's. Mikhailo and Titus had a lot in common, but they didn't bother talking. Mikhailo tersely greeted Titus with a smile. Titus paid no mind to this, however. He wasn't really interested in befriending a proprietor almost twice his senior.
Cesare stared at his cousin Mikhailo blankly. "I don't I've ever heard you try to tell a joke before."
"You still haven't," Mikhailo said.
"Is it true, Mickey? There are cinematographs," Alaric asked.
"Come and see for yourself."
He led them through the golden revolving door that spun them into the bazaar.
