“What do you mean, gone?”
“Gone, your majesty. Departed, left, vanished. Absent without leave. Decamped, displaced, disappeared… they’re simply not there.”
The Majestrix, long may she reign, glared at him as if she wished she could both freeze him and burn him simultaneously. “I am aware of the definition,” she said in tones so cold that they had to be measured in degrees best suited for hard vacuum.
I think it’s telling that the high point of my literary career to date is putting an hômage to the Dead Parrot Sketch into my writing.
Hevun’s Ambassador. Buy your copy now.
