I just stood there as the coffin containing the king was lowered into the ground. The large wooden box painted with elaborate gold designs and jewels as big as my 12 year old fists. The expertly carved marble grave stone etched with the words, long live the king. I didn’t know what to say, because along with the dead man in the box being the king he was also my father.

I sighed as I woke to my normal setting of dreary gray stone. I rose from my bed my eyes still bleary with sleep I tripped over something. I bent down to see what I had tripped over it was a small wooden chest held with a clamp about the size of my pinky finger, my hands began to shake and my eyes started to tear up as I realized that this was the last gift I had ever received