and did you know
the liberty bell is a replica
the liberty bell is a replica
Sun-kissed king. I had heard it first from the warrior Galileo, after crowning him with the Solonia wreath. You honor me, I’d said, my surprise worn with the ease of one who has grown up accepting epithets like roses tossed onto a stage.
Eminence of the Sun. First Blessing. Cleric of Virtue. Instead of gifts, my continued diligence into the brooding age of late adolescence had been rewarded by my tutors with ever loftier appendices to my name. It was a reciprocal process. The more honors I accrued like currency under their tutelage, the brighter the offerings laid at their scholarly altar.
I did not resent them for this. I prided myself on seeking no oath of love, apart from the purely contractual, the purely obligatory, from anyone. In a fit of anger Mernatius had once called me unfeeling; and my siblings, I think, have never seen it as anything more than my nature.
Nature, or nurtured? In any case—I am no longer so naive.
I am balancing a platter of artfully arranged figs, milky dew still dripping from their just-cut stems, when a gruff voice to my left distracts me from finding a place on the table to set them down.
"So you're Adonai, the new Sovereign?"
I cannot place the voice and so I turn, a smile smoothed carefully into place. "I am."
I am eclipsed by the shadow that drapes over me, cast by a figure who must rival Galileo in height. He is standing with his back to the sun, haloed by light, his features scrubbed out by shadow. He offers no name of his own, though from his bulk alone—I flick my eyes to his neck. It is bare; he does not wear the golden collar of the old generals.
I rest the teetering tray on a free square of worn wood, before offering a safe greeting. "I hope you are enjoying the festivities?"
There is room, at the end of my question, for him to offer a name.
BRIGHT SPLASH OF BLOOD ON THE FLOOR. ASTONISHING RED.
(All that brightness inside me?)
(All that brightness inside me?)
♦︎♔♦︎
