Of Dust and Gears

Glennen knelt wearily over his demolished creation. There was nothing recognizable remaining of the perfect, beautiful angel he had crafted. Even its gossamer silk wings had shredded to nothingness.

“Next time, I expect better work,” the princess sneered. “This toy was obviously far too fragile.”

Glennen’s hands were shaking.

“You monster,” he said. He stood and pointed a quaking finger at her royal highness. “You inconsiderate and ungrateful monster!”

“How dare you speak to me in such a tone!” the incredulous princess retorted.

“I will speak to you in a manner befitting what you truly are — a child! A spoiled and irresponsible child!”

“It’s just a statue,” the princess said angrily. “You can make another.”

“You don’t seem to understand,” Glennen whispered. “I could never make an angel to match it, even given another seventeen years. That precious angel was imbued with magic bestowed from your saintly mother and father. It was meant to house your eternal soul. And without it, you will surely die.”

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