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Kin-strife for Christmas
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The Chain

On the wharf, Dor-en-Ernil’s royal pennant flies. Behind locked doors, treason’s brewing.

Lady-in-waiting Isilwen’s old Riverfork nobility, from the Ethir, proud and faithful. Faith’s hard kept these mixed days, but she’s determined. There’re always holes…

The flautist knows a violinist, who when his “lady moon” shines right, drops a tune to tell “the monkeys”: time to gibber up those trees… Down through the Row, mouth to ear to a swart Haradric parfumičre’s hand. She bottles it, tells a mute unwitting boy: “For my love” - who’ll give it to a merchant.

So seeming innocent, yet word goes North: Castamir courts swans...


Prompt: bottle, wharf, violin, moon, monkey, fork, hole, lock


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