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...
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Don't Threaten Me With a Good Time
Varbridge Palace, Ember's Rock, Saprea
Fires and candles illuminated the dark red walls of the Great Hall. It was hazy with smoke and heavy with the smell of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread when Desyrae stepped inside.
In the banquet hall, tables upon tables were laid with dishes from every corner of Saprea: all sorts of meat lathered in savory, tangy sauces, vegetable stews to spice-laden curries, freshly baked rolls and breads for dipping, rich ciders, fruity wines, and candied delicacies to feed all of the nobility of the eight kingdoms.
Desyrae had not eaten. Perhaps that was unwise. She told herself that there had been no time, but the truth was that food had lost its savor. It wasn't that Desyrae was a picky eater, she just didn't have an appetite. Or rather, she meant to starve herself. She thought that if she ate Saprean food and celebrated the reception, she'd be showing willingness and toleration for her situation.
The only person she was punishing was herself. So where was that pride she kept defending?
Rowena and Marthe talked animatedly with the lords at their table, telling them a bawdy story. Cerise was beside Cesare, talking about mundane things. Claude ate silently, occasionally jumping into conversations with Marthe. While huffing through her nose, she set down her fork and knife and followed Desyrae's gaze. She found it strange that Desyrae spoke only in answer and seldom lifted her gaze from the other guests or her food.
"Excited?" Claude asked. She could feel Desyrae's heart racing.
Desyrae shrugged. "Sure."
Claude displayed a vague look of concern. "Are you okay? You've scarcely touched your food."
"Oh yes, I'm fine," she gabbled in some unnaturally high voice. Desyrae's smile was tight.
Claude pressed her lips into a thin line.
"Will you eat?" Claude coaxed.
"Yes," she lied stiffly.
"Shame," said Cesare, after he ate furiously fast. "I'd take that food."
A singer was playing the piano and another was reciting a ballad, but every eye was locked on her. She was easy to spot, even in the endless sea of lords, ladies, servants and guards which filled the halls.
A brilliant smile was plastered on her face and the highborn lords and ladies were fawning over her beauty while she sat down besides Cerise, who smiled down on her. "You look quite dashing," her friend murmured with a mocking grin.
Before she could reply, however, a voice boomed through the hall. "Silence!"
Rowena's wavy hair bounced as she shook her head at the door. "His Majesty is here," she said, rising to her feet. They all set down their silverware as the massive doors opened on oiled hinges.
