The Mourning Sky

"Sire!" The aide scrambles to a halt. "The cloud machines - they've stopped working."

"Oh no." The king's face falls. "My beautiful clouds. That won't do at all."

He turns to me and I can see a tear running down his cheek. "My daughter simply loves them. She's so happy when she sees them billowing across the sky. We must fix this at once!"

He signals the aide. "There are ten thousand prisoners in the eastern pits. Use those." The man hurries off.

"People are seventy percent water, you see," the king tells me. "Perfect for making my lovely, crimson clouds."