Work Text:
You bow before my throne,
unaware that it was born of lies—
not forged in fire or fate,
but shaped by a careful illusion.
A careful illusion—
stitched from glances I rehearsed,
from half-truths dressed in gold,
from silence where honesty once burned.
I polished every surface
until it mirrored something whole,
hid every fracture in the marble,
buried doubt beneath control.
A careful illusion—
steady hands, a steady voice,
each word measured, each step certain,
as if I ever had a choice.
They see a crown that never falters,
a figure carved from something strong,
but strength can be the best disguise
for everything that’s wrong.
And still you kneel, convinced it’s real,
your faith aligned with what you see—
you bow before a perfect vision,
but not the truth of me.