We talked with the Vandal King as he walked through the city. Ice cream cones fell. Glass shattered. Daydreams were interrupted. He walked backwards, grinning as he watched all that passed in his wake. His teeth were very sharp.
"Our viewers will want to know," said Julie, gripping her microphone, white-knuckled, "why? What do you gain from ruin? Does it fuel your magic? Does it serve the cosmos, a force for balance?"
He turned his grin on her. "The reason is simple," he said, reaching out one long-nailed hand to pop a passing child's balloon. "They have something. I don't."
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1 comment:
I think this flitterfic explains so much in international foreign relations.
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