Tact, Poise, and A Willing Ignorance

She sat on her throne cradling her hand as her servants moved around her quickly.

“Do you need a surgeon?” They asked her. In a tiny squeaky voice, much to small for her monstrous body, she wined, “No, I’ll bear it.”

Before her, crumpled on the floor lay a beautiful thin woman, dressed in elegant robes. She clutched her cheek in pain, staring daggers at the insanely fat woman.

Why does SHE need a surgeon? I’m the one who’s hurt! The woman thought. Pulling herself together, she stood before the woman and dropped her arms to her sides, smiling. “Are you proud? You lead an army to find one being, and in the end you killed them all. Are you proud?” The woman asked. “What makes you think you are above anyone? You are incompetent, just as all the leaders before you. You may kill me, but one day, it will be your head on the block.” The woman finished.

“Kill her.”


Bobby Pendragon

Bedoowan tribe on the territory of Denduron

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