[The King leaps back from his mirror, the roiling darkness of his form one of twisted delight. If he were a child, he would have clapped his hands. He doesn’t have hands now but he does consider manifesting them for that singular purpose.]
You are too kind by far, my Queen, my heart, my song of life and joy. Are these the humans from all our feasts? Their souls, trapped for me for this moment and all moments?