A Paper Throne

“Apologies, ye grace”
“The lad isn’t frying as expected”
“What do we do now?”

The king rose from his paper throne
It stretched to fit the room
Snuffing out other lives

“Now, we wait,” the king said
“The current age has spoken”
There was resignation in his voice
The jester made a face that felt flat on the floor

As the paper throne expanded further, the throne room seemed increasingly inferior
“Where do we live now?”
“Perhaps among the commoners”
The jester wrinkled her nose in distaste
“I’d rather die,” her expression read
But the king was strong, and could live among the fishing shacks and plebeian sunsets

via Daily Prompt: Fry

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