I love this writing
In an old age, when people much like today were only germs of the future, when God was still touching with his Holy feet the rocky surface of the Earth—in this old age lived a King, dark and ponderous like midnight with a young Queen smiling like the luminous noon.
Fifty years had passed since the King was at war with a neighbouring Kingdom. The neighbour King had died and left behind his fortune to his sons and nephews, the hate and division of blood. Fifty years and the King had lived alone, like an aging lion, weakened by fight and suffering—a King who had never laughed in his life, not at children’s songs, not at the amorous smile of his young loving wife, or at the old funny tales of knights aged by battles and needs. He felt weakened; he felt he was dying having…
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