every dog has his day

[Moloch]

part one:

1732 dawns over me.
And I can only welcome it with open arms.
For what choice do we meager have?

There's nay much to eat, there's no place for me to spend the night
The blight runs rampant.
I scavenge the skeletons of war yet again. Hopelessly.
A dime. A quarter. A crown.

No one will ever remember my parents. Our surname is as foregone and disembelished as the next one.
Meaningless.

I dare not show my face. I can no longer endure the harshness in their critique. The cruel nature they've chosen to embrace.

It is not their fault. It is not mine.

All that's left for me is to compromise.
This is not me. Not yet, it will be.

The crown marches upon Theria tomorrow.

They hunt.

They boast.

They feast.

We starve.

Nothing has changed.

Nothing ever will.

I will have to.