You wander through the ruins of a once mighty city. There you see a man grinning at you, wearing a rusted crown.

You ask him why the fuck would he wear an iron crown. And how the hell he got it wet enough for it to tarnish. At least gilde it so the outside looks gold and it doesn’t tarnish. What the fuck.

He gets really defensive about it, like weirdly defensive. Oh, oh, he says, oh, I’m sorry I don’t, like, carry gilding materials around. Sorry I’m not prepared like you. Where’s your crown, huh? You don’t have one? I didn’t think so. Watch yourself.

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