The King/Queen sitting upon the throne greeted us in our minds. I couldn't tell where the head ended and the majestic crown began; what was antler and what was regalia. It offered us a trade. We were in its realm; we had no means of escape, and He/She knew it.
We traded our gold for seeds.
We traded our swords for birds.
We traded our dreams for freedom.
When we made the deal, we misunderstood the wording. I assumed the loss of some future goal. I was wrong. I haven't dreamt since. My sleep is darkness, broken only by the antler crown of a Queen/King of the fey realm.
This cider is sharp regalia, darkened dreams, and a misunderstood deal.
Reviewed on 07 Jul 2024
