The unloved child, whose hair shone of amber, named for the sea. His shoulders draped in jeweled velvet, a crown of thorns was placed atop his head.
When the previous ruler suddenly perished one night, the kingdom nearly crumbled from the shock. I, the last in their line of royalty, was the only one left to pick up the pieces. Acting out of desperation, the palace reluctantly bestowed me the throne, praying for salvation by my hands.
My first decree — bathe this place in red roses. Tear up the old desecrated soil, and allow it to grow anew from golden seeds.
Immediately I was drowned in an ambrosial adoration; letters and bouquets of gratitude piled upon my dresser. As I smiled and gently waved, the world gazed up from beneath my balcony, hanging onto my every word. A town that had lived in misery all this time had found a glimmer of hope in the shape of a person. Scarlet flowers unfurled within a hollow lacuna.
Unfortunately, one quickly becomes accustomed to a life of sweetness.
"Something urgently requires your attention, my liege."
The edge of a fork cuts with ease into light porcelain fondant.
"Well, I've no time for it now."
Thus, to have it taken away leaves a doubly bitter flavor behind.
As winter approached, the new leaves began to wither. Common troubles remained unsolved, and petals started dropping faster. Consequences began to arise from having anointed somebody just as lost and scared as they were. They asked me questions I had no answers to — soft whispers through back alleys asked, what will become of us?
A feeling deep and forgotten prickled inside my core, an inadequacy I thought I had long since shed myself of. After such fervent attention, to think I could be cast aside so hastily. After I'd saved them from certain collapse, after I'd given them the gift of paradise, how dare my subjects turn their eyes away from me now?
My second decree — bar the gates. No one may enter, and no one may leave.
Outsiders shall obey my laws, and subjects shall bow to my demands. Remake the kingdom in my image, if that's what it will take. All you must do is prove yourself worthy to me — or, if you resist, then let yourself be punished.
Pushing them away, people I knew and loved began to disappear into the dark. Broken stems twisted around my spine, and tendrils took root under the flesh of the earth. Another one tumbles down the rabbit hole into a Wonderland of my own design. I turn away slightly during their execution. Another rose is planted.
"The people are growing concerned, your highness."
I stare coldly through the repercussions on display in front of me, allowing the words to echo off the castle walls. I cock my head and narrow my gaze.
"For what reason, pray tell?"
"That is to say... concerned that you may not be fit to rule, in your current state."
With silver tines, I puncture the ripe strawberry from atop my cake. Rivulets of sickly pink sugar trickle from its wounded heart.
Trust, I do not delude myself. I act in self-interest. I act out of fear. For this is no one's idea of paradise; it is nothing more than a circus, and I am the ringmaster, whip in hand.
All twisting paths lead back to me. I am everywhere you look, slowly dragging my body further down this hall of mirrors. Even when this garden turns to dust, my presence will remain, a river of shimmering blood cresting in my wake. Peering into the red, I see my reflection. Someone unfamiliar smiles affectedly back at me.
It is a stage, and I am the only performer.
Vanity, selfishness; the act of "getting what you want". Acting on such childish whims shall stain your conscience like wine; layer by layer, until it forms a disgusting red pitch you can never wash out. The truth is, I have no interest in power nor fortune — all I desire is a shadow that exists forever outside of my reach. I seek some sort of great and unachievable purpose, anything to fill the voracious cavity in my chest. I take a pair of scissors to the tapestry of my family name.
I am the puppet, and I am the puppeteer.
Yet, I persistently cling to this valueless worship, in all its futile unfulfilling saccharinity. I continue to dance in circles with my shadow. My cloak has grown tarnished from dragging along the path that I've carved for myself.
Because if no one sees me, do I continue to exist?
Growing feverish, I make my third decree.
"Your highness, we... beg you to reconsider. Are you certain that this is..."
My teeth grind together. I spear my scepter on the floor with a thunderous crack.
"Are you questioning my ruling?"
A nauseating silence seeps into the hall. Biting back a panicked and unsteady breath, the bitter taste of iron forms in my mouth.
"No, your highness."
It's a poor charade I put up these days. My facade of perfection is quickly losing verisimilitude; my visage, painted over with rouge florets. Another one tumbles down the spiralling path, and my eyes remain fixed on theirs. Another one tumbles down. Crimson buds lay scattered at my feet.
One day, something will slip. My beautiful domain shall tire of me. The gnarled laces of ivy that string me up will curl and coil to strangle my throat. Golden glitter coats my hands, and silver drips from my lashes. When I am laid to rest on a bed of frozen roses, the thorns left intact, they turn away from my face for the final time. I fear that day may come soon, and when it does, I dread to think it may be for the best.
I smile, and wave, with a quiet nihility behind my eyes. The world beneath my balcony smiles devotedly in return. Its cloudy gaze, wide and petrified with terror, does not dare to blink again.
If I can be nothing else, then 'til my last petal falls, how lovely it is to be feared.
