Our Most Noble House of Cardboard

They say that every man has a castle, and though I am not a man yet, I rule from mine like the child prince I am. This mighty city of grime and glamour is mine to rule, my legacy written out in the graffiti on its walls and spoken of in hushed tones around the bonfires burning in its secret places. The hidden shamans of the city have cast my fate, cracking the asphalt and reading my fortunes there. I am the child prince of this city, and you are my people, and this is my castle.

The enemy will come and try to tear us from our home, but for every one of us that falls, another will come and take his place. It is a dynasty of the youth, and where they see only detriment, I see between the cracks. We are not their children, and their homes are not our castles.

Not anymore.

Driven out by death and abuse and neglect, we are gathered here in solace and sanctuary in our most glorious abode. We are the next generation of princes, and while rags mark our crowns, we stand strong within the walls of our castle.

Our most noble house of cardboard.