Greeted by an "old friend". Feeling a bit strange.
Well I am here not because of HIM. That's for damn sure. I am a man of fine breeding and will not refuse a lady's request (obviously you are a lady).
I'd say not many writers or artists know me well. It's hard to blame them, because not many of my own men knew me well either (my enemies knew me well enough). They thought I was born with golden spoon, and no doubt should be the chosen one as expected. Deep inside I knew I was not the one, even everyone said so. I just knew it. But there was no turning back. Either I rode the horse, or overridden by it.
They always addressed meby titles. I WAS my titles. I had to wear them all the time or I was nothing at all. Ungracefully losing the game was only indulgence in dreams, where no one watched me. For a long time, I convinced myself that I was a super capable man and I deserved them all. Pride and overconfidence gave me strengths. I could live with the day and crowd but not the night. Every time I looked into themirror of darkness, I saw a shorter man shivering, waiting for the day to come.
That day eventually came. My old friend laughed at me as he always did. I remembered his army sang a song so loud that it just haunted the rest of my life, not long though:
Wish no good for the long live of the King,
But the long night forus to sing!
Victories are earned, not inherited!
A woman can beoverjoyed, a man never sated!
I should have burst into fury but reduced to tears at last. Regret was what I feel. And when the regret became too overwhelming, I hated instead. I hated that man so much that I could not sleep without dreaming him. They weren't always bad dreams though. I dreamed back to the old days when we were young, playing around like every badboys and got away with what we did. Oh he got away, not me.
One night I was playingchess with someone in my dream. The man sitting in front of me looked so familiar that I immediately recognised it was him, just wearing a differentface. Not surprisingly I lost the game as ever, but I suddenly couldn't tell who he was. Who beat me Who was playing fool of me I shouted out and pointed my sword to him demanding his name. He did not answer, just smiled. A coldsmile that woke me up in the middle of night.
At that moment I finally came to realise, he was not the one of interest. Even if he never existed, there would be someone else to claim my lands and ruin my whole life. It was the rotten world that brought it about, leaving me no one to accuse of. I was merely a puppet of the god of fate, who deserted me after he had enough fun. It was wrong of me to put faith into anything.
So if you asked me what it feels like "to be abused in historical interpretation" I'd say it doesn't bother me that much. I had my fill of abuse in my lifetime. No need to remind me. Thank you.