He stood erect, proud. This despite the castle, the bastion of power and influence his family had wielded for hundreds of years, was now a pile of ashes. The last wisps of smoke hung low against the ground. What had been his crown was now molten metal.
“Well shit.”
Hesitantly, his chef approached.
“Lord, a million apologies. The grease fire got out of control and…”
The king raised his hand.
“I pride myself on perspective. You didn’t mean to start the fire, therefore you are forgiven.
“Far more importantly - I hope Aunt Beatrice will let me crash in her castle.”
No comments:
Post a Comment