04/17/21 Snippet, LE ROI EST MORT.

This one is coming along, too. Note that this is for a different chapbook. I dunno why I’m working on them both at the same time, except that I want to get this story blocked out.


The parade travels southwest, taking over Embarcadero as you march with the harbor on your left hand. Even from here the Bridge looms, but there is time still to take in one long, indulgent gaze upon the Imperial City. It is a perfect time for it: the sun shines down upon you all, with no Friscosa dusts to further choke out the skies.

But you do not mind the Friscosa. Not really; not when it could be so very, very worse. There are places in California where the scars and boils from the Great Earthquake of 1906 persist, stubbornly refusing to either heal over, or scab. Not here. Here the buildings remain just as tall and proud as ever, showing the unique mercy of the Great Earthquake towards the Golden Emperor’s chosen home.

The thought of that mercy is a great comfort to you. It tells you that there is a plan, and that you have a place in that plan. And if plans require sacrifice? Well, that thought is an odd comfort, too. In its way.