…. it is late day when the announcement comes that he has arrived.
The west wing parlor faces out and within everything is of a black and very veined marble. Sansingaulf, wearing his deep cobalt blue robes. He sits upon the black throne as he awaits the announced arrival; his long silver beard reflects off the triple moons’ light that seeps from the arch of the doorway to the balcony, that, right now lays open emitting a cool evening breeze.
“Byãrn….” Sansingaulf looks upon him as he approaches
“What do you want this time?” Byãrn is openly annoyed
“You know it’s time to play your part ….”
Quietly the other rages and walks towards the balcony.
He stands from there and shouts,
“Your precious ‘Terra’? or one of the others?— and, tell me!—why me—your bastard son?”
After a dreaded and ominous silence Sansingaulf rises and says,
“I think we both know why ….don't you recognize her?”
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