This is a continuation of a story that I'm co-writing with @brisby... part of the freewrite day 100 challenge https://steemit.com/freewrite/@brisby/his-1st-cake-we-write-with-improv
Bos spun, the smeared honey giving away his sticky fingered... he was caught.
But who was this, catching him? Not a guard. He could have made one of those laugh and wave him away... Some old woman. She had gray hair and clothing that belonged in the roman era, if ever. The deep wrinkles on her face told him she was ancient, but her eyes... She had soft brown eyes that twinkled at him. If all he saw were her eyes, he'd swear she was still a child.
"So! This is who you are, Bos? A rascal?"
Bos was silent. "Well, you have a chance, my boy. You can eat that cake and walk away, or you can save your life."
"I'm dying?" Bos sputtered, cake spurting from his lips.
"Yes, I'm afraid we all are, but you more quickly than most. I've poisoned the cakes, you see. A little treat for a king who tore me from my family to amuse himself."
"You're.... Pamtischka, the Magnificient"
"I am." She bowed,
Source: Postcard from 1888, illustrator unknown