Once upon a time in the kingdom of Solonia, a frazzled artisan threw his hands up into the air. “Every ten seconds I’m interrupted by calls from the Palace,” he said, pacing around his office. “Surely my written missives are sufficient. But no!” he says, thrusting a finger into the air, “They call and call and call.”
He had proclamations from the King and Queen on the wall, reminding him of his good and faithful service, and the treasured sketch of his appointment to the royal court, framed in the finest oak. He sat down with head in hands, about to write another missive – this time to end his association with the court.
As he dipped his quill in ink, the Royal Poet Laureate appeared at the door in white flowing robes. She saw the artisan and inquired to his frustrated state.
“My child, what troubles you?” she said.