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Figurative Language included.
| The rain pounded against the windows of the old hunting lodge, falling in thick sheets like the sky was raining cats and dogs. Inside, the fire crackled, but the air was far from warm. The tension between the two kings sat as heavy as the storm outside. King Donald, draped in crimson robes with a golden crown resting slightly askew, sat at one end of the grand oak table. Opposite him was King Volodymyr, his blue and yellow tunic pristine despite the long journey. Between them sat a pie - golden, steaming, tempting. But it was more than just a pie. It was a symbol of what they fought over. Their advisors stood behind them. Sir JD, Donald’s closest confidant, had a perpetual scowl, as if he were always walking on eggshells. Lady Ivanka, Volodymyr’s most trusted advisor, stood composed, her hands folded neatly in front of her. She had a green thumb, known for growing life where others only saw barren land. But there was no fertile ground in this room. Only conflict. Volodymyr leaned forward, his fingers drumming on the table. “Time is flying, Donald. We must decide.” Donald scoffed. “The world is your oyster, but I won’t be the one handing you the pearl.” Sir JD leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. “Hold your horses, Your Majesty. Don’t jump the gun.” Volodymyr’s jaw tightened. “We both know what’s at stake. The people grow restless. If we don’t act now, we risk a war neither of us can afford.” “You always get cold feet when it matters most,” Donald shot back, eyes narrowing. Ivanka sighed, stepping forward. “Perhaps a compromise. The pie, our lands, our resources, could be divided evenly.” Sir JD snorted. “A piece of cake.” “A piece of cake?” Volodymyr slammed his fist on the table. “We’re talking about the lives of thousands! This isn’t something you solve with a knife and a smile.” “The elephant in the room,” Ivanka cut in, her voice steel, “is that we waste time while our enemies gather strength.” At that moment, a gust of wind slammed against the lodge door. The fire flickered, casting shadows across their faces. Silence settled in the room, thick and uneasy. Then Volodymyr spoke, his voice measured. “There’s something you should know.” He reached into his tunic and pulled out a weathered scrap of parchment. “This was slipped under my door last night.” Donald took it, frowning as he read: "Two kings divide a kingdom; one will not live to see the next harvest." Sir JD let out a nervous laugh. “Probably just a trick. Someone pulling your leg.” “Or a warning.” Ivanka’s gaze was sharp. “We may be living on borrowed time.” Donald exhaled through his nose, passing the note back. “Superstition. I don’t put stock in ghost stories.” “And yet,” Volodymyr countered, “here we sit, at a fork in the road. Will we choose peace? Or will history remember us as fools who let their pride burn bridges?” Sir JD folded his arms. “Sharing power is a double-edged sword.” “Better that than cutting corners and rushing to war,” Ivanka replied. Donald rubbed his temples. His mind was a battlefield, his advisors urged caution, but deep down, he knew Volodymyr was right. He had spent years chasing rainbows, believing he could win everything. But now, he was walking a tightrope, and the wind was picking up. Finally, he let out a slow breath. “A council then. But if this fails, don’t cry over spilled milk.” Volodymyr nodded. “Agreed. Actions speak louder than words.” Just as their hands moved to shake, the lodge doors burst open. A soldier, drenched from the storm, stumbled in, his breath ragged. “Your Majesties,” he gasped. “The castle… it’s under siege.” Donald shot to his feet. “What?” Volodymyr turned to Ivanka, but she was already pulling a dagger from beneath her cloak. Sir JD paled. “This is madness!” Ivanka’s voice was cold. “Madness would have been waiting.” Donald’s stomach twisted. She spilled the beans too late. Outside, the thunder roared like the drums of war. The kings, once bitter rivals, now stood on the same side of a new battle. And the pie, forgotten, sat untouched. |
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