royal chrysanthemums

the typewriter clicks away at tomorrow’s headline. the typist is distraught with the story. the Queen has passed. her nation is mourning. chrysanthemums line the street as the bells toll. click! click! click! ding! who shall inherit the crown? be that it may, she was unmarried, no children, and no living relatives. the smell of revolt is coming. just like in France. click! click! click! ding! rebellion is rising. rebellion is rising. God save us all!

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