I slaughtered them. Every one of them. Didn't even give them a chance to explain themselves.
It was necessary, of course. They turned against the state, against me. Me, who has faithfully ruled this land for so many decades. Me, who has devoted every fiber of my being, every moment of my time to keeping my loyal subjects safe.
So why does it hurt so bad? Why does the knowledge of what I did rip my heart out of my chest, churn my stomach and force me to vomit when I am alone?
Why can't I just forget it? Why can't I just accept that they were going to create a war? Why can't I accept that bloodshed was the only solution?
Was bloodshed the only solution? Was there another way that I just didn't think about? Did I, in all of my experience ruling this empire, make a mistake?
No. No, I couldn't have made a mistake. I did what I had to do. They turned on me, they betrayed ME!
But what drove me to kill them? Me, the ever compassionate ruler, benevolent through countless ages of prosperity in my empire. Me, the one who is revered for her wisdom and patience. Slow to anger and just in her punishments.
Me...the butcher. Yes, I have commanded much evil, committed just as much. Logically, I understand that it is necessary, that ruling my empire requires sin. Sins against the few to keep order, so the many may prosper. And that's what's important in the end, right? Prosperity for the masses?
But at what cost? Is the blood of thousands worth the prosperity of millions? Is it worth the executions I have ordered, is it worth the executions I have personally performed? If it is, why am I still sitting here, in my bathroom, vomiting from disgust at myself? Why, when I look in the mirror, do I see a monster? Hideous, vile, and disgusting?
Why do my subjects see beauty? Why, when they look upon their leader parading through the city in a chariot, do they see beauty? Why do they see a heart of compassion, a spirit of love, and the embodiment of loyalty?
Why do they love me? Why can't I? Why, despite the adoration of my subjects, do I hate myself so much? Why do I hate everything about me? Why do I hate my apparent perfection, why do I hate the life I lead?
Of course, I know the answer. I hate myself because there is nothing to love. No part of me worth anything more than the spit of the lowliest servant. I sit on my throne, commanding my armies to destroy anyone who stands against me, and my sins go unpunished. My great many sins, to which I will never receive punishment.
Yet, when I look inside of myself, what do I see? Is there any desire to change? Does the guilt I feel ever drive me to wipe myself clean of the blood on my hands? I could stop, whenever I want. I could surrender myself, relinquish my control over this land.
I could accept my inevitable fate. Allow myself to be destroyed. Absurd as the idea sounds, it has always brought a sick smile to my face. To accept death with open arms. Yes, I would appreciate that. Finally getting what I have deserved so long.
Then again, couldn't I just...change? Couldn't I become the benevolent empress I depict myself as? Couldn't I just stop my sins?
No. No, I couldn't. My nation would fall apart if I did that. I will continue, I have to continue. Not for my sake, but for the sake of my subjects. I will be damned for what I've done, but I do what I must.
I do what I must, but I feel my resolve breaking. My little mirror of perfection, shattering. Every wall of composure I have built to shield my subjects from my true self has been crumbling for decades, and it's only a matter of time before...before they know. Before they all know. Before I fall apart.
Before I fail to protect my empire. The empire that my father before me created, the empire that he entrusted to me. The empire that I am to maintain for an eternity.
Alas, the curse of immortality. I will never pass on, never enter the dark realm where I will receive my punishment. Punishment that I so richly crave. My secret desire to let it all end before me, to let it end peacefully and quietly so I may suffer for eternity.
Of course, I can still die. I will never age, but I can still be killed. I may have everlasting youth, but I am not truly immortal. I am not invincible. Tough, yes, powerful, so powerful that the prospect of my destruction, my death at the hands of another is silly, but nevertheless I am not invincible.
I take comfort in that. The fact that I too, can fall. Each night as I lay my head to rest, I imagine what it would be like for my life to end. I imagine what it would be like for the fire that burns inside of me to be snuffed out, revealing the cold, dark shell I always have been.
Then again, has there ever been a fire in my heart? Has the spirit of passion ever burned within me? I know it did once, so many centuries ago, but I was a child back then. A child, so young and innocent.
A child, so beautiful. Yes, beautiful. Like my many loyal subjects, I was as beautiful in spirit as I was in appearance. And now, as I look in the mirror, I wonder where it went. When did that beauty leave me? When was it replaced by this...this...
This thing in the mirror. Am I even a person anymore? Why, if my stomach weren't empty, would I be vomiting again just by looking at myself?
Does this guilt mean there's still something left in me? A piece of that passion, a piece of that beauty that I used to be? What if, perhaps, I could restore myself to the child I once was? So young, so passionate, so beautiful?
What if I don't have to remain what I've become? Is it even a possibility?
The tears that roll down my cheeks whenever I ask that question always give me the answer. The answer that I don't want to hear, but I know is true.
Of course not. Young and innocent is weak, and beauty of spirit must be sacrificed to keep an empire in place. The monster I have become is a necessity, a dark necessity that I need to learn to accept.
I will continue to do what I must, no matter how evil, no matter how painful, I will do what I must. Maybe someday I will receive the punishment I deserve, the punishment I desire, but I can never be who I used to be. I can never be innocent, I can never be beautiful.
I am the sum of my sins.
May I be damned for them.
