to the unhinged, reason is madness
There is one you cannot dispatch, the monger said with an even tone. Before the mad king and his court packed by partisans of last resort, she stood accused. She stood alone.
Infuriated by her lavish claim, the old fool’s oath so harsh that feeble minds turned away. There are those to this day who say even the executioner blushed.
In the eye of his storm, the market seller spoke swiftly to ensure, though her life appeared forfeit, his unhinging would yet be set, if reason would have the last word.
Beyond your grasp in this court, stands one who is your better. For m’lord, despite your gall, you can away with us—me or all—but never dispatch your successor.
