What a place, what a people. The conquered often don’t regard you with the hate you expect, at least not to your face. For the most part they come grovelling, knowing they have new masters, to present you with half the treasures of their holds in the hope you will not take all of it.
But these people come before us not with gold or jewels, but with time. Little blue flowers, that they claim give everlasting life.
Naturally we suspect poison, so we try them on our lowest slaves, men and women we have dragged with us across continents on our conquests, who were once former princes and princesses.
They don’t die, to our surprise. Rather they start to live as they never had before. Strength beyond measure. Minds sharper than geniuses. While we delight in the prospects of what the power in these blue flowers will mean for us, they revolt.
And the empire begins to curl up like parchment on fire.
Paddy Dobson
25th January 2023