Bipolar Vamp6ix
𓌜Blackpill Autist
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prologue of a greycell king
MOVING ON
I stand at the edge of my new world, a crown resting heavy on my brow, its weight far greater than the plow I once wielded. Once, I was a peasant, toiling in the fields, my hands calloused and my dreams simple. I sought nothing more than a life of honest labor, a home filled with laughter, and a place where the sun warmed my back.
But fate has a cruel sense of humor. I rose from the dirt, pulled into a life of privilege and power I never desired. The cheers of the crowd that heralded my ascent echo hollowly in my ears, drowning out the quiet whispers of my heart that long for the simplicity of my past. I had thought that a king’s life would be one of joy, but instead, I find myself shrouded in shadows of responsibility and grief.
Each decision weighs on my soul, each sacrifice a reminder of what I’ve lost. I look at the golden halls and lavish banquets, yet all I can see is the field I left behind—the laughter of children playing, the scent of freshly turned earth, the freedom to dream without chains. As I step into this new life, I realize that with every step forward, I leave behind a piece of who I was, lost forever in the relentless march of duty.
I may wear the crown, but in my heart, I am still that peasant—burdened by the knowledge that sometimes, rising up means losing everything that truly mattered.
It seems as though now, the greycell throne and mantel of king must be burdened by another, for i, have overcome the hurdles of this journey and now move on to greener pastures
MOVING ON
I stand at the edge of my new world, a crown resting heavy on my brow, its weight far greater than the plow I once wielded. Once, I was a peasant, toiling in the fields, my hands calloused and my dreams simple. I sought nothing more than a life of honest labor, a home filled with laughter, and a place where the sun warmed my back.
But fate has a cruel sense of humor. I rose from the dirt, pulled into a life of privilege and power I never desired. The cheers of the crowd that heralded my ascent echo hollowly in my ears, drowning out the quiet whispers of my heart that long for the simplicity of my past. I had thought that a king’s life would be one of joy, but instead, I find myself shrouded in shadows of responsibility and grief.
Each decision weighs on my soul, each sacrifice a reminder of what I’ve lost. I look at the golden halls and lavish banquets, yet all I can see is the field I left behind—the laughter of children playing, the scent of freshly turned earth, the freedom to dream without chains. As I step into this new life, I realize that with every step forward, I leave behind a piece of who I was, lost forever in the relentless march of duty.
I may wear the crown, but in my heart, I am still that peasant—burdened by the knowledge that sometimes, rising up means losing everything that truly mattered.
It seems as though now, the greycell throne and mantel of king must be burdened by another, for i, have overcome the hurdles of this journey and now move on to greener pastures
