Storyteller's Universe // Cloud Pilgrim
Self Reflection



“Any last words, traitor?”

I raise my head and look my father in the eyes. There is so much contempt in how he looks at me, love for me has left his heart. My chains rattle as I nearly fall over, my legs hurt from kneeling on the cold sandstone.

“Nothing I say will matter to anyone.”

He grimaces, his brow furrows. He raises a hand and everyone gathered in the temple begins to chant. He lowers it onto the linen cloth, draped over the holy artifact.

“Prince Khalfani, your crime shall be judged by Ra, whose light gives life and creates. By His holy light, you shall be punished with reversal — Your life taken away, unmade into dust. Stand before Him, and confess.”

Guards prod me to get up, on shaky legs I do. All the gathered chant and sing, intently watching as the sun’s rays slowly creep down the walls of the temple and make their way towards the obscured artifact.

“My heir, who betrayed me and seeked to usurp my throne, I shall by my own hand put you before the Sun God’s judgment.”

As the sun’s light hits the linen cloth, my father pulls away the cloth. I am blinded. I reflexively try to raise my hands to shield my eyes, but I find nothing happens.

I see myself, in a temple, surrounded by nobility, priests and advisors, all chanting. I cannot hear them, but I see them, the rhythmic movements of their lips. I see myself, dropping onto the floor, limp, lifeless, and the crowd cheers. People who used to be part of my life, some of them who I would’ve considered friends not even a month ago, all celebrating my death.

I find myself standing next to my father, looking down onto my body. My father looks relieved. Seeing my death brought him relief. I have done so much for him and he is happy to see me gone. Anger builds up within me and

CRACK

I see everything, five times over. Five bodies on the floor. Five crowds which with shock look straight at me. Five fathers who all take a step back away from me. I see all of them as confusion washes over their faces.

I see all of them as if through a broken mirror.

No.

I am the broken mirror.

In rage I break the rest of my reflective surface into tiny shards, I no longer have to look at those who abandoned me. The artifact which bound my soul shall trap me and me alone, no one else will suffer this fate.

I feel a hand on me, and

I am the golden ring on a priest’s hand.

I am not bound to the artifact. Am I a lost soul? Without a body, looking for any vessel ready to house me?

This is my fate, and I despise all of them for doing this to me. Nobody listened to my pleads of innocence, is this what they wanted all along? To jump on the first excuse to get rid of me?

I will not let that be.

I am once again, the cursed mirror.

I feel for the floor the mirror stands on.

I am the sandstone, the foundation of the temple.

And in anger I crack and crumble, bringing the temple on top of those who wronged me and forced me into spiritual exile.

For the briefest of moments I felt the thunder of shoes heading towards the exit, silenced by the melody of falling rock. And as my own dust settles, I am confident no one made it.

I move from rock to rubble, searching, until —

I am the King’s Crown.

I am so alone.

What have I done.