Oh, a bit of play for a foully warm day.

.
.
I do not know where this bit derives.  A movie.  A piece all it's own.  A Shakespearean scene.  I do not know.  I could investigate.  Yet why?  I am sated on what is as it is.  Perhaps, if I wish more, I will then learn more.  I do suggest, if you are weak of constitution, that you go no further.


Something you might wish to know?  Men serving their enemies to themselves, or more... if usually as fantasy... to the makers of the enemies, is more traditional than any French haute cuisine, or humble fair from which such was truly derived.  Food more tenderly handled the less there was of it by the most humble of folk.  No... not a socialist type, merely blessed to have had humble beginnings myself.  Only realizing the grace until into the later part of my life thus far.

Of course, this bit is the madness of revenge.  In a time where evil was even more potent among the elites.  Madness and terror were visited upon the many, by the few.  Though, once in a while, the dog got the master first.

Before you ask, no.  Not of flesh.  In dreams, truly.  Often.  Even in many ways, not all human.  That nexus has not been crossed.  However, if by harsh grant, no other way forward remains, and under God's eyes, I would venture there, only as is needed for survival.  As with war, what of that I have known, I learned to garner, nor aim to gain, no pleasure.  Difficult, but doable, with prayer.  Even after the fact, to a degree.  What must be done, will be done, by one or another.  Or not.

Bonne chance?  Bon appetit!