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The Emperor considered for a moment. "No, that would be excessive.
Get something out of the National Archive. Something small that won't be missed."
"Very well, your Highness." The Warden made a note, and then called up the seating plan. Napoleon scratched
absently at a seam in his paper clothing, scrutinising the arrangements.
"Are you uncomfortable, Emperor?"
"No, not really. It's just this seam is making me itch something terrible."
"Please let me take a look, your Highness."
"It's nothing," dismissed the Emperor, absorbing himself in the delicate seating plan. Fascinating...so
many decisions…
"Please let me take a look, your Highness."
Napoleon looked up irritated. "Hmm? I don't want you to look. I told you it's..."
"Please let me take a look, your Highness," the Warden repeated, tightening its grip on the pen.
Something fluttered in the Emperor's mind. For a second he watched his eyes widen in the Warden's reflection.
"Fine!" yelled the Emperor, standing up and pulling down his paper trousers. The area he had been scratching
was red and irritated. The Warden looked at it for a moment, made a note on his tablet and replied, "I will
get you some medication for your wound, Emperor."
"It's hardly a wound..." he began to protest.
"It is a wound Emperor. Our Emperor must not suffer ill health." Warden Friend stood up to leave. "I
will return with some salve. Your Highness," the Warden said bowing out of the room. The door closed. It never
locked.
"Hardly a wound," muttered Napoleon, pulling his trousers back up. He laid down on his pallet, shaking
slightly. Matters of state were so mentally exhausting.
The room was white. The walls, ceiling and floor were white. The boy sitting at the white table was dressed in
white.
The door opened.
"Your Highness, Emperor Napoleon. I hope you are well rested."
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