The old King wanders the halls of his lonely castle. Sunlight catches dust, daggers in stagnant air. His Ivory roses swell with buds as a gentle snow falls in the grand courtyard.

12 nude witches bask in clouds of opium upon silken cushions, raspberries and roast quail perch here and there on amethyst platters. Sword sheaths spill with pink champagne over oiled lips. A great tiger lounges with a golden chain about his neck, the other end attached to the King’s bloody ankle.

He shuffles by.