Opus 1640

Phillip A. Ellis

Suns that sparkle in the dew of the roses of Zothique transform to ruby each drop they fall through.

Each ruby has no price that may be set upon it. Gold is as much as dust and powerless to set its price upon them. And dust falls on all alike, man and beast, waste and mead, and retains still the same value (when the sun will fall) as gold--nada....

As day progresses, each ruby fades, but the moments they live are more than precious and beyond price. If only Zothique could awaken each morn and hold each drop more precious than wealth, of more worth than luxury, more fulfilling than desire, more opulent than indulgence, more luxurious than sin fulfilled, more than anything Zothique can find to fill its empty and fallow hours.

Who, then, seeks the dews of the rose? Only fools and madmen accounting such rubies of worth.

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