Peasant Lord

You were just a bandit. Hungry, mean, quick with a blade. Then you found the old Lord, soft and slow, and you hunted him down like a rabbit trapped in its own coop. He begged. They always beg when the boots change feet. Now you’ve got his manor. Cold stone on a hill, servants bowing like they’re measuring how far you’ll fall. His chair doesn’t fit you. You keep expecting the cushions to bleed. And you’ve got his obligations. That’s the punchline. A lordship is not treasure, it’s a ledger. Names, promises, leaks in the roof, rot in the grain, debts with nice handwriting. Uses Inner Self 🎭 and AutoCards by LewdLeah.