King Oscar

In another life I was King Oscar. My robes were silver scale, my crown a spire of coral more fanciful than the noblest narwhal. Moon bright pearls dangled and bedecked the ceilings of my underwave castle. Mighty vents coughed and sulfurred up energy. Sardine subjects went this way and thosewards—a convoy driving right, a caravan left—shining and soft on the eyes like chain link curtains. They cast rainbows on the kelp beds. And all the while I was chortle-satiated. Belly laughs. I sucked down shrimp and poured prawns down my grizzled gullet. I drank mulled wine and spoke nonverbal in grunts and glees. The pressure of the deep, heat the earth spun up molten, the heavy crown; they could not dim the rose in my cheeks.
My bastion broke. And only today I saw the hole.