"Your son will take your throne from you," they prophesized, spitting each word out of teeth clenched tight with hatred. Why they'd bother prophesizing such an event befuddles you; your son is literally your chosen heir, after all.
Years later, you realize what the prophets meant. For most of your life your son was your pride and joy; an academic, who would surely lead the kingdom into greater health and wellness. Until he committed the ultimate act of betrayal.
"You will not take my throne from me!" You cling to your grand chair so hard your knuckles turn white.
Your son sighs. "Dad. Dad it's lead-"
"Of course it's lead! It's a strong metal, signifying the strength of our country- this throne has been passed down the royal line for 300 years, 15 rulers before me-"
"That is not enough time for that many people!" Your son throws his hands up in the air. "Because it is lead! It is poisoning you! Didn't you wonder why grandpa died at 40?"
"Ah, pfoo! That's the ancestral curse."
"It's the throne! The throne is the ancestral curse!!!"
