I find crowds overwhelming. It’s just too much noise, too many things happening at the same time. You can’t really hear your own thoughts.

Today I feel nothing but overwhelmed. Thousands of people have gathered on the Grand Plaza for the coronation. They’re all singing, screaming, cheering, and chanting the new Empress’s name. My name.

I stand at the entrance to the Temple of Old Gods, a sea of people below me. Pillars of pure marble rise into the sky. Red and golden banners hang from the palace walls, each one proudly displaying the emblem of different noble houses and regions, a testament to the unity that built this empire. Streamers of satin and silk cascade from the ornate balconies of the surrounding buildings, swaying gently in the hot air. Crystal chandeliers hang from archways, their luminous brilliance infusing the plaza with an ethereal radiance.

I look up at the temple. The black, plain walls seem out of place. It towers above me, hundreds of meters tall. I’m sure that if I touched its walls, they’d be cold, despite the heat of the day. The steps leading to the entrance are half my height. They were carved from black stone before humans even came here.

My heart is racing as I walk towards the archbishop. The cacophony of cheers and chants engulfs me, making it hard to distinguish one sound from another. All the lights - camera flashes, colorful lanterns, and fireworks - blind my eyes, making everything blurry. The music hurts my ears. I want this to be over. I want to run away, to escape the responsibility that awaits. But there’s no turning back now; it is my destiny to be here, to wear the crown, to rule the Empire.

I kneel before the archbishop. Knowing that the most important part of the coronation is about to happen, the crowd goes silent. The bishop looks at me, holding the crown in her hands. She starts saying the words of an ancient prayer. I focus on her voice. It’s steady and confident. Her words fill my head.

Hear my prayer, oh Old Gods

A mere mortal kneels before your doors.

Let her be the Empress of our world

Grant her deliberation to lead all of us

Grant her the wisdom to be the highest judge

Grant her the strength to conquer our enemies

Grant her the courage to protect us all

And when the Death comes to our door

And when the War takes our beloved

And when the Famine brings us to our knees

And when the End of all is night

Let her deliver us, oh mighty Gods

And in the darkest hour of the night

Let her be our guiding light

A mere mortal kneels before your doors

Let her be the Empress of our world

Hear my prayer, oh Gods of Old

The prayer ends. I am about to become the Empress. Looking up at the bishop, I can see every detail of her clothing and of the crown she holds. My heart is racing again, my whole body is tense. Each breath is shallow. I hope no one sees that my hands are shaking.

The crown rests upon a velvet cushion, its delicate presence a stark contrast to the weight of its significance. Crafted with an artisan’s touch, it exudes an ethereal lightness, as if it were woven from threads of moonlight itself. Set within the crown are slender bands of opalescent stones. They emit a gentle, otherworldly luminescence, casting a subtle halo around the head of its wearer, twinkling like the stars on a night sky. The crown’s design exudes an elegant simplicity, a reflection of the profound understanding that genuine power needs no ostentation.

The archbishop puts the crown on my head. Feeling its weight on my head gives me confidence. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath.

And then, I rise, assuming the mantle of Empress. I now wield a power no other mortal can claim. I command the mightiest army, govern the wealthiest cities, and hold dominion over the laws of the world’s grandest empire. I shall unearth and cast out the corruption festering deep within its heart. I make this solemn vow.

The crowd erupts in cheers once more, their jubilation forming an overwhelming wave of sound that briefly deafens me. Oh, do I want this to be over. Do I want to go back to the palace, to its welcoming quiet, and soothing darkness.

I stand by the open window, letting the cold breeze caress my skin. The chilling touch reminds me of how your arms used to envelop me in warmth on nights like this.

I wish you were here. Looking into the night, I imagine your fingers tracing gentle patterns across my skin, and for a moment, I almost believe you’re really here.

Memories flood my mind. In times like this I’d just snuggle into you, and I’d feel safe. All my problems would disappear when I was in your arms, my love. I would be so happy when we were together - I felt as if I was melting when you were kissing me. If you were here, I wouldn’t be cold, we would just sit by the window, cuddling together, and I’d feel nothing but your presence.

I wish you were here. To comfort me. To tell me that I’ll handle anything the world throws at me. I yearn to snuggle into your comforting embrace, seeking solace from the world outside.

But you’re not here. I’m alone. No one will hug me. No one will tell me that I’ve got this. No one will comfort me. The room remains silent, and I’m left to face my fears alone.

I feel emptiness in my chest. Tears come to my eyes. Not having the strength to stand, I slide to the floor. I start sobbing quietly. I’ve heard somewhere that crying makes you feel better. But at the moment I feel so empty, so sad.

Using all my willpower to move, I stand up, leaning against the wall. My body feels like a doll, I have to concentrate on every move. Each step feels like a burden. I close the window, and I throw myself on the bed.

With tears in my eyes, I fall asleep. I hope that I’ll dream about you, my dearest.

Why didn’t you love me as much as I loved you.