My entire existence has never been about being a good fit. All the shapes and sizes of heads considered, this is a good thing. The concession is to place me just right, picture-perfect and then the King would have to be still, regal, and poised. All the things a king must be. A king never bows, so I could never slip off. What they don’t know is at every coronation I could tell. The moment I get placed on a King’s head, I know if he’ll be Edward the Eight (EdwardVIII) or Henry the Eight (Henry VIII) -one loved a woman, the other one had 5 of his wives meet unexpected misfortunes. In my early years, I wanted the people to know what they were getting themselves into. So if the King was horrible, I would make some of the gemstones glow. Unfortunately, they took that as a sign that this King must have been chosen by God and this led to the immediate execution of other Kings I didn’t glow for- The good Kings. Long story short, I switched tactics and wouldn’t glow for the bad Kings anymore. The bloodthirsty would-wage-a-war-over-anything did-not-care-about-their-subjects Kings. Glowing even for well-intentioned kings stopped making sense. They come in with a lot of heart and find themselves pivoting to bloodthirsty brutes because the people want that. I stopped glowing, kings kept dying until a woman walked into the throne room. The first one. I didn’t to be responsible for her death, but I also wanted to scream as she walked down the aisle “When someone offers you a crown, say, no thank you and go be a seamstress somewhere!”. The moment I was placed on her head, I saw all the anguish and suffering. As they crowned Bloody Mary, I sent my warning by glowing more than I ever had before but it was to the celebration of all in attendance, forgetting I had changed tactics.
Share this post