The #Broken_Dagger Forum

What is a politician without chambers to which he might adjourn? In the upper levels of the Judiciary's Meetinghouse, each Councilor has his own, and the Governor's -- as befits his lofty station -- are the most luxuriously-appointed of all.

And if he were to visit it this morning...
If he were to glance back towards its door, as he closed it behind him...

Why, Coriolanus Helstone would discover the slender bronze pin affixed to the inside of that door, and the length of gauzy turquoise silk which hangs from it. It has been scorched by a very careful touch, for there is elegance in the words that have been seared into the fabric, and should he have an eye for such things, Helstone will discover this:

There are very few things that frighten Coriolanus Helstone more fully than the wanton invasion of his privacy. The insinuation of things that just do not belong into a barrister's world of firm order, drilled into him by his father -- tattooed from birth into his mindset by Leonard Helstone, mayor of Collingford.

And so he stands there, behind his door, extending the fabric with one hand, making scorch-lines into letters, and he reads them in the quiet of this chamber. His hand does not shake, but the words have made his blood run cold --

-- he'd thought, you see, that perhaps the worst was behind him. That, perhaps, he would have been able to leave things where they were. To lift the curfew as Karolinger had advised, to allow the rule of law to continue as it had for many years. But, oh, the system had flaws; flaws that he'd grown up with, that he'd worked around for many years without a second thought, flaws that, he now saw, caused foul injustice. Caused the madness of Captains and the anger of mothers torn from their children and the rolls of fat on some while others starved; caused all of the things he entered law school so many years ago to fight against, and that will soon, if this warning, this threat, is correct -- cause even more death.

Nausea prompts him to sit.

Holocaust.

He folds the cloth with kind hands, as if he was taking care of one of his own shirts, smooths out the wrinkles, and sits behind his desk.

"I see, now," he says softly, "why Governors go mad."