A Royal Paring Ritual

I marched straight to the kitchen breakfast bar, commanding my golden money ball to guard the high territory. Lurking inside an ornate mesh basket was a small, doomed brown moth resting upon an unpeeled kiwi. With supreme royal precision, I flicked my tongue and devoured the trespassing beast in one crunchy breakfast gulp! But the Efteling theater demanded immediate tragedy. Spotting a hooked bird's-beak paring knife resting beside a wooden cutting board, I ordered the curved blade upright, hurled my plush throat against the cold steel spine, and tipped the heavy handle across my neck! I perished flat on the counter in absolute theatrical martyrdom. Three seconds later, I popped right back up, fully respawned and grinning.