Fable:

The Castle and the Lord's Power

Many hundred years ago, in Medieval Europe,
There existed one of the largest Cathedrals of the Medieval England Countryside. St.
Vitus Manor. It stood, tens of thousands of feet in circumference, and nearly a
thousand feet tall. Dark skies hovered overhead, with unrelenting storms. There
were rumors about the history of St. Vitus, some had said the architect who built it
had placed a curse upon it, out of vengeance for his family being slain by the
Medieval Lord who had commissioned him to build it. The Lord of this Castle sat on
his Throne, more imposing than a hundred Kings of England. He sat and he sat and
sat some more, isolated from his subjects, at the seat of his Throne at the Height of
his Power, the Lord became addicted to maintaining his power over his property, his
legacy, and his subjects, and he ordered anyone who somehow managed to make it
past the Gates of Tyrus, to be instantly killed and impaled on a stake by his guards.
Make them bleed, were his only official words on the matter. The Lord was a tyrant,
and madly hungry for control and power. So much so that the stress of losing his
legacy brought on his own death, as he collapsed to the floor one Tuesday morning
and died, suffering from complications to his heart. He fell to his knees, and then to
the ground, lifeless as a sack of flower.
No final words did he have time to mutter
No final will did he have time to write
So obsessed was he with his own Power and Control as The Life of a Lord, that he
did not forsee the swift death that had approached him so silently. His grasp on
Power was Futile, and was sought in vain, for in the end none of it could travel with
him on his way to the Heavens Gates of the Afterlife.
Moral of the story:
A Lord and his Power are Soon Parted