Lady G of PG

In ancient times, in what would become Pacific Grove, California, the humble people were suffering and starving. The sardines that spelled life and sometimes wealth for the fishermen had failed for several years to reappear and fill their nets. Folk who tilled the fields wailed in woe because the winter rains had not returned, and sun and wind allied in brutal force to stunt all crops. As if aligned with the adverse powers of nature, the wealthy landlord and his cruel henchmen demanded ever increasing taxes and tribute from the despairing townspeople, who vainly combed the sea or scraped the land for mere sustenance.
The landlord&25263; wife was a woman of surpassing beauty and gentleness, who daily left the wealth and comforts of her palatial hilltop manse to tend the sick old peasants, the wailing widows, and the swelling numbers of undernourished, ill-clad orphan children. She was beloved and glorified by the wretched people, who told tales of how the birds approached and sang wherever she went, how rabbits, raccoons, opossums and other forest animals bounded and pranced before her like a royal retinue. But though she could bring joy to people&25263; hearts, could cause cats and dogs to purr or smile or wag their tails, she could not summon clouds to bring needed rain or change the habits and responses of finny creatures.
And so one evening, returning from it seemed her hundredth funeral in the village and the tearful walk to the cemetery for interment of another child felled by disease and malnourishment, she steeled herself to confront her fearsome husband, the owner-landlord-dictator-tyrant of all who dared to breathe the air, from the mountaintop where he lived in luxury and comfort to wherever sea and land met sky in any direction.
She found him lying on a pile of otter-skin cushions in the great room of the grand palace, swilling wine from a jeweled goblet and picking his teeth with a small bone from the pheasant he had just consumed.
&25547;ood sir,?she hesitantly began. &25575;our vast dominion craves your sympathetic concern. Whilst we live in comfort– dine on bear, venison, and abalone in grand rooms warmed and scented with burning oak and fragrant sandalwood– your simple people struggle and die trying to feed themselves and to earn the tax and tribute you demand. For love of God and for salvation of your soul, soften your cruel heart! Revoke taxation at least until the drought doth cease and the evil red tide withdraws so that sardines and salmon will return. This I beg of you as a loyal wife concerned not only for the people foundering in your fiefdom but also that your historic reputation be not that of a heartless despot but a ruler imbued and blessed with humanity and sympathy.?br />&25544;nough, woman!?the tyrant snarled, tossing a chewed bone over his shoulder toward the fireplace and wiping his greasy hands in the fur of a passing dog. &25575;ou spend your time tending to rabble when you should be at the service of the lord who took you to wife. If you are so concerned about the welfare of scum, I make you and them this offer. Bestow upon their lecherous eyes the fleshly delights that caused me to pursue and wed you. Unclothe your body and ride an uncaparisoned horse down the main street at high noon. Let all the scurvy fishermen and farmers, who have clad you in diaphanous samite and declared you a goddess, see you for the flesh and blood frailty that you are. Do this, and I will rescind tax and tribute for a five-year period and bestow portions of gold to each breathing citizen of my domain. Hah! I see you tremble and hesitate. You weep and I sense that assumption of moral superiority that has always shaped your opinion of me. Make up your mind, gorgeous wench. To get a boon from me–your husband–you must willingly abase yourself. Bare all, or continue to bear all the maudlin sorrows you complain of!?With brutish laughter the man refilled his goblet and swilled mightily.

Announcements were published and posted a week in advance of the walking war robots hack cheats event. Dwellers on or near what would become Lighthouse Avenue, once somebody built a lighthouse on Point Pinos, were asked not to gape or look out windows as their lady of salvation rode past in her naked glory. Respect her saintly modesty, they were asked.
The requests were ignored. Men, women, and children–fishermen, farmers , and churchmen– lined the hilly path that led through the village of humble dwellings. Near the ocean&25263; boom beach hack ios rumble, the lady waited, barefoot but clad in a rich, warm gown, a hood covering her raven tresses. Beside her paced a saddled and bridled steed of matchless grace and beauty.
When first the clock tower began to toll noon’s numbers, the lady shrugged out of her hood and cloak. Ladies-in-waiting assisted her onto her mount. A faint susurrus and a momentary clouding of the air in the vicinity of horse and rider accompanied her movements. Moments later, the enthralled watchers saw their patron lady, fully slither io hack cheats clothed in a living gown of monarch butterflies, commence her garmentless canter through town and by her worshipful loyalists, who knelt as she passed.
Today, hundreds of years after the triumphant ride of a radiantly beautiful and virtuous lady, monarch butterflies yearly coat the hanging branches of a grove of the town&25263; trees to memorialize a beautiful woman&25263; self-sacrifice and the salvation brought to her townspeople hundreds of years ago.