It all started with a story told by an elder. Their words were strong and steady, and kits gathered ‘round to listen to their soft voice. ‘ Let’s begin. ‘ They say, smiling. ‘ Here’s a tale that you will all know; about the cost of the crown. What you reap, you sow. ‘ The kittens listen intently, young eyes wide as they continue. ‘ power is consuming. sure, you feel tall, but you won’t feel so tall when you fall. ‘ ‘ there was a poor little boy who dreamt of godhood and sitting on thrones. he felt so sad and so very alone. so he grew up big and strong, and now destroys those who’ve done him wrong. ‘ soft gasps, fear in the kits’ eyes. ‘ we question the moral and ethical implications of ruling the world with zero limitations. we question how he can let the world burn merely because of frustrations. oh, absolute power corrupts absolutely. but he made a promise and has a duty; continue the legacy his own father left for him. ‘ ‘ .. but no one will cry when he falls. ‘ the elder’s den is left in silence, until a lone figure’s shadow landed in the entrance, eyes like glittering rubies in the darkness. a deep, slightly amused voice spoke, echoing powerfully in the quiet. ‘ telling stories about me? ‘ — the god’s tale: https://scratch.mit.edu/discuss/topic/904495/ — the king’s records: [ jrp project ; wip ]
Song is Where Gods Go When They Die by Lydia the Bard
