I’m struggling with the next part of Morgane’s story. Up until now, her story has been from her perspective. What comes next should be told from someone else’s, but I think that might be less of a story if I do so. Still the thoughts need to be mulled and so another push comes in that tale. I did have a bit of a thought, however, about someone else in the Realm who might bring something …
Someone, far wiser than myself once noted that our past tells a story and we should learn something from it. Perhaps not something Realm-shattering or even life-changing by any means. It’s more the realization that the past remains with us to the present day.
I remember my past very clearly. Being the source of legends and stories in the mortal world, there’s always some sort of tale being written, some supposed truth being unearthed. There is art carved into stone that depicts an aspect of me, papyrus that tells of my time. There are exhibits of my jewelry, at least those pieces that weren’t my favourites–I would never have left those that mattered to the sands of time.
I’ve seen the museums which report to hold my true form, the idols and statues displayed from the age where I ruled those lands. There have been films created to tell my story, how things came to be, and the ending that has become the greatest legend of love lost and what one would do for love.
I remember being a Queen, ruling over untold numbers of souls, pressing them into service, directing them to build monuments, temples, and all else that came to my whims at the wave of my hand. I recall my palace, the opulence, my servants waiting at my word. A single word would change history, and in this mortal world it did … for a time.
Once I was the Queen called Cleopatra.
I admit that I was arrogant, selfish, and cared only for myself. The lust that swirled around me was child’s play to shape and bend. To cast my attention upon a mortal, whisper what I desired, and then leave such mortals to their own devices amused me. It was they who brought me into power, tried to satisfy me and my desires. Some became my favourites, some were used for a purpose and then disposed of.
I was the Queen, after all. They were mere mortals, having no idea of the truth my silk robes hid from view. My palace was filled with slaves, their wills consumed by my hunger. The legends of my appetites in do not scratch the surface of what really happened. They amuse me as they try to untangle the reality from the legends crafted to veil the unexplainable. The very few who saw my true form didn’t live long enough for explain what they’d seen. A snake is not always a snake; sometimes it hides the truth.
Now all that remains is a gold-tail called Cleo. I’m not the queen I was, though I wish for those times more often that I will admit. This isn’t my queendom, of course, though seeing our ebon-maned red-tail does bring me to sigh and reflect on my memories. I pine for them, seeking out ways to remind others of who I am.
My view of how to rule isn’t our Queen’s. She doesn’t like to be called that, though she is and should demand it. She should act as did I, to control all around her, to give a command and have it be made real. If I was queen … it would be different.
I remind those of the Realm who I am at every chance, my servants carrying me on my chair. I flaunt myself on mortals and many fall to my will. I am a Queen and should be treated as such. I should be respected, feared, and obeyed.
But this isn’t my Realm. It’s Tera’s. She could proclaim a law against me and I would have no defence. I’d be left with no option but to obey her will. But she doesn’t. Her view is different. She allows for my desires as she does for everyone in the Realm. She tries, Goddess knows, to explain that there are other options, that perhaps I should open my eyes and see what’s around me. She doesn’t care about being called Queen, doesn’t care in the least about holding her power over the souls in the Realm. I cannot figure out exactly why that is, why it doesn’t matter. After all, she fought to be Queen, found her Eternal, made peace with the Temptress, brought daughters into her family.
I’m not jealous of her as Queen, I’m … wistful of the family she has, the love she shares openly with everyone, including a wretched gold-tail like me. The trappings of a queen do not make a queen. It’s who you are and what you do that really matters. Why did it take so long for me to figure this out when it was all so clear?
I’ll have to talk to Marc tonight.
The past is past. My own Eternal and I should make our future.