The airship raced over the sea into the dawn, its solitary passenger wiping his bloody hands on his old, silk scarf. He would no longer need the uniform—it was only good for rags now—and he took some satisfaction in so dirtying the cloth he had, for years now, been made to tie about his neck. Somehow, his whole hatred for the empire was wrapped up in that white necklace, its soft and strangling knot—a regal noose.
No more pretenses, he sighed, casting the scarf into the bellows. It would burn, and the fuel would carry him far.
Tale Told 