Except, perhaps, for those creatures who believe they are the ‘chosen ones’, willing to take on the cloak of universal compromise for the sake of adulation and prosperity, and willing to risk it all for a crown: a destiny where losing a crown is one of unspeakable horror.  The King knows this.  Every King knows this.

Labaguette eyes look as if they are about to pop out of their sockets and his feathers are puffed up.  Still, his eyes are staring, fixed into those of the monkeys, looking at them with such vigour that the monkeys become restless, on edge, and frightened.  What is there to understand they wonder?  There can’t be anything to understand except that of a King’s insanity.

“Don’t get any closer,” the King retorts to all those attempting to stop him, “else I’ll make it snappy.”

“What’s got into you?” the Captain insists.

“Hook madness,” Chloroph suggests.

The King’s long, aristocratic and elegant fingers stretch to envelop the parrot’s neck as if he were slowly relishing every second the strangling session was bringing, shaking his head sideways, threateningly at the Captain and Chloroph.

“Get on with it!” Spinostress says, “I haven’t much time, make my day!”

All of a sudden, three monkeys begin to stretch white ropes that are being made right here,  right now, that keep extending straight out of a never seen before orifice: out of their own tails, wrapping them around Spinostress neck and squeezing, fast and tight, before her tentacles are able to reach and disable them.

To be continued…


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