Nantucket

Nantucket was a town in the yawning heart of Manchester. It was bustling with lively folks. The sovereign ruler was known by all, and loved too. She participated in the town service days, knew everybody's name and offered her hands to lift.

But the community grew old and tiresome, they developed mentally, physically, in every manner they could. The sovereign ruler was yet aware as they appointed a new captain in her stead. This one was awry, suspicious and oft times inexplicably disappointed. He did not trust anybody, most especially himself, and as we all know a ruler that does not trust, can rarely be trusted.
The town continued to grow cold and years passed.

Then, one day under and orange tree, a child listened. A story was told of this ancient ghostly happy thing that offered purpose and her hands. The sovereign ruler, he mused, and played with the name in his mind. She is alive, the an orange fruit seemed to whisper. He furrowed his unibrow and his unkempt mane bristled, "If she is, I will find her yet, I will."