Democracy is a myth

It's a very short piece of writing that reveals the truth about power.

The Circle of Twelve sat beneath the jade dome, their silk robes marked with animal crests—fox, raven, lion, and more. They were the Queen’s advisors, her council, and today, her challengers.

Queen Maren sat at the center, tall on her throne, but her face was tense. She was angry.

“A vote,” she said. “That’s what you want?”

Lord Sylas of the Raven rose. “Yes, Your Majesty. The people are suffering. The Blight spreads. Your plan to close the borders hasn’t worked. We must choose a new path. Let the Circle decide.”

“You think twelve voices are wiser than mine?” the queen asked.

“No,” Sylas said with a smile. “But twelve might be braver.”

Maren stood. Her gown, made of soft grey silk, once belonged to her mother. She wore it now to remind herself of the strength she came from.

“Fine,” she said. “We vote.”

Each member stepped forward and dropped a carved stone into a black bowl—one for change, one to stay loyal. When they were done, the Queen slowly walked in a circle around the bowl, then reached in.

Seven stones for Sylas. Five for her.

He had won.

Sylas looked proud.

“So be it,” the Queen said. She stepped closer to him. “You’ve chosen.”

Then, without warning, she pulled a dagger from her sleeve and struck. The blade sank into Sylas’s chest. Gasps filled the chamber.

He fell without a word.

Blood soaked into her silk dress, but the queen didn’t flinch.

“You may vote,” she said, her voice cold. “But I wear the crown.”

By : Robrayl (AJ)