Uncle had promised Rena this was only an audition, but now, in this bare room with its sparse lighting and black-and-gray tapestries that stunk of oil, with more than forty royal spectators crowded close together, scrutinizing Rena in silence, it felt like a trial.
A Swashbuckling Novella of Black Hearts, Black Humor, and Floppy Black Hats. A besieged band of refugees has only one hope: A morally off-center Robin Hood pathologically obsessed with the look of his own arse.
So intriguing, a weaving audition. Normally this is an activity people never want to watch. Interesting this is a performance art in this world.