The Battle of Sweet Spears.

“Would you now?” Duchess Constance replied, each word a spear soaked in sweet water. “Of course, my lady, I would love to elaborate on my theory,” said Lady Calet. In a graceful motion, she picked up the napkin on her lap, dabbed at the edges of her lips with it and cleared her throat. She began, “I wouldn’t say I believe in God nor would I say I don’t. However, I believe that there is a fundamental force that rules as all. This force is omnipresent, invisible and perhaps even non-existent, but it is vital.” She laced her ring finger into the handle of the cup and gently raised it to her mouth, sipping gently, as if she were doing it for just dramatic pause rather than to quench her thirst for tea. “This force,” she continued, “has a needle and a white thread and with them, it weaves our destiny, our fate. Oh, but do not think that therefore, we, as mere humans have no power to change our fates!” She shuddered as if the thought disgusted her, before resuming, “it hands us needles and threads too. Blues threads for despondency, yellow ones for felicity, red ones for anger and green ones for jealousy.  Only the courageous pick these weapons and weave their own paths in the dense forest of destiny. I call this force, Force. Some call it Brahma. Some call it Christ. Some call it Allah. Some call it Science.” If Duchess Constance were just a normal peasant, she would’ve snorted but she couldn’t, because it was very unladylike. “So you believe in God. I’m afraid your knack of weaving elaborate theories to present a simple fact isn’t very good,” she retorted. Lady Calt merely smiled before saying “Please; only an imbecile would believe that there is no God. An atheist simply means to say that the Earth sprang out of nothing; the skies sprang out of nothing; the colours sprang out of nothing and humans sprang out of nothing. I’d rather believe something created us in lieu of assuming everything simply appeared.”