Those in power are bastards. Yes, they say that they care, but it’s not borne out in their actions. Inhuman in their deeds and superhuman in their shining words. The whole thing is rotten, the structure of power only accessible to those twisted enough to slip through through the entrance.
The adventurer found what he had been seeking. The crumbling ruin of the kingdom was but a battier to him. He picked carefully over the rubble, making his way to its epicenter. This wreckage was the fallout of failure. Of frugality and excess, indiscretion and criticism.
It’s due to one simple rule, known since humanity first looked to leaders. Those who seek power are those least fit to wield it. One who relishes the sight of changing the world of their image should never see the vision realized. We have reached the failure state. All that is left is to try again.
The adventurer’s lip curled in a sneer when he came upon the king, fallen at the foot of his throne. His skin was translucent and pale, his nails and hair unkempt. His face was a bitter grimace, brow cracked with ravines. They had let a monster seize the throne, and had now paid the price. His gem-studded crown lay beside him, gleaming as if new.
Things would be different if I held power. I wouldn’t use it to sate my ego. I would use it with the grim fact bowing my head that lives hung in the balance, that a wrong decision would be a disaster, and a lack of one worse. Inefficiency is tragedy. I would remember that. I see these things clearly, where they do not.
The adventurer plucked the crown from the ground and inspected it. It was a masterwork, rubies, emeralds and sapphires dancing in a living lattice that refused to let the eye settle on it. Oh so heavy, it was, but travels had strengthened the adventurer’s back, and his neck was sturdy. He sat upon the throne and placed it upon his head. Now, he could make things right.
There have been chances for this to happen before. Bright-eyed visionaries, who saw the way for a brighter tomorrow laid out in front of them. In France, in Philadelphia, in Russia, in California. Their visions were mirages. In the end, their thirst for power had warped their vision so much that they thought evil was necesasry for good. Their vision of good had been warped by evil at its very root.
With the power of the crown, the adventurer set about busily. He raised citizens to fix the castle, working alongside them and raising their spirits with his joviality. They saw his vision for what the kingdom could be. A million shining roads, working for the good of all. He didn’t intend to wear the crown forever, and they believed it. He would abdicate when his work was done, unlike the previous, monstrous king.
Good intentions do not mean good results, of course. But while they thought their optimism would suffice for pragmatism, I have both. I will not lose sight of the lofty heights I am building towards, nor will I forget the humble labor required to reach it.
Weeks stretched to months. Complicated schemes were required for the adventurer-king’s great projects, and he spent long hours upon the throne working out how they might be done. Every hour that could be devoted to his dream was sacrificed for it. He worked tirelessly, restlessly. The citizens grew concerned, but he assured them he hadn’t changed. Their hours were longer now so they would be miniscule later. Tomorrow was closer than ever.
This time will be different. Those that came before me weren’t lacking in intelligence nor vision, no, but I will succeed where they failed. I will learn from their mistakes and my own. I will deliver on the promises they could not. Finally, after all this time, we will touch the golden light. We have waited, yes, but now is the time to stride forth boldly towards it. We cannot bear the tragedy of not being awash in its glow any longer. Each day that passes until then is an unspeakable tragedy we will mourn, when this nightmare is over. When we are finally free.
As he worked, the king felt the strength leave his body. The work that had made him strong had been replaced by struggle which made it weak. His head drooped under the weight of the crown. One day, a peasant boy came to beg for his favor. His family was hungry, and could the king spare some food from the vast stores to feed them? It broke the king’s heart, but those stores were responsible for preventing starvation, if the harvest was poor. The king released a long, rumbling sigh, dipping his head. As he prepared to tell the boy his decision, the crown slipped from his head, clattering to the floor in front of the throne. In its gleaming reflection, he caught sight of himself, sallow-skinned, wild-haired, his face a veteran of a million mental wars. Terror gripped his heart, and he died then and there, tumbling from the throne he had tried so desperately to dignify, his heart heavy with regret.
> "...he caught sight of himself, sallow-skinned, wild-haired, his face a veteran of a million mental wars."
So he suddenly had to face the "Who are you becoming?" question.
I think, "Maybe the peasant boy's request functioned as a 'mirror,' also."