skonen_blades (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
skonen_blades) wrote2007-04-09 08:04 pm
skonen_blades) wrote2007-04-09 08:04 pm
Prince Flight
Neon wings with soft edges take me out over my kingdom. The sigils of my office glow orange off the tips of my outstretched arms. The blue wings and glowing sigils are glamours cast to light up the dark and make me visible to air traffic. I need no registered flight plan. Woe betide anyone who disturbs the path of my nightly sojourn.
I am King Angel. I am the Royal Crucifix. I am an Air Force of One.
Holes in my shoulders hold homing beacons. A lifetime of flying hasn’t yet dulled the thrill.
There was a tragic symmetry to the spells interwoven over the destiny of my reign. It was unavoidable for me to muse upon that fact even when I was trying to distract myself from it.
In time spent carousing, I saw the seed of my own downfall. There were small salamander glimmers in the scrying bowl of the paths I shouldn’t take that, unfortunately, I was already treading.
There were times, looking back at the great soothsayer executions of the last century, that I think that those past kings might have had the right idea. Perhaps the illusion of free will was more important that actually possessing it.
I guess the huge secret is that I’m a horrible king. My PR department is brilliant and the people who are running this governmonarchy are the same people that have been running it since I was six and ascended to the throne. They run it well. I turned out to be good-looking poster boy for them. They had people to attend to me, waiting, for when I started to noticeably age.
I’m all natural and I just want to have fun. They foisted princesses on me constantly despite my protests. After I ‘accidentally’ dropped one of those princesses during a night flight like this and started a brief war by doing so, the Marriage and Heir cabinet took me seriously and backed off until my invitation to return.
With a flap of my arms, the huge glowing outlines of my wings arch back and almost touch. I bring them down with thunder and rise like a cork shot out of a bottle above the clouds.
There I can lie on my back and watch the stars, gliding aloft with only a twitch needed now and again to keep me true.
Magic gives me air to breathe for two hours. Layers of silk pajama flightsuits keep me warm.
I know I won’t be remembered as a very effective king.
I miss the days of being a prince.
tags
I am King Angel. I am the Royal Crucifix. I am an Air Force of One.
Holes in my shoulders hold homing beacons. A lifetime of flying hasn’t yet dulled the thrill.
There was a tragic symmetry to the spells interwoven over the destiny of my reign. It was unavoidable for me to muse upon that fact even when I was trying to distract myself from it.
In time spent carousing, I saw the seed of my own downfall. There were small salamander glimmers in the scrying bowl of the paths I shouldn’t take that, unfortunately, I was already treading.
There were times, looking back at the great soothsayer executions of the last century, that I think that those past kings might have had the right idea. Perhaps the illusion of free will was more important that actually possessing it.
I guess the huge secret is that I’m a horrible king. My PR department is brilliant and the people who are running this governmonarchy are the same people that have been running it since I was six and ascended to the throne. They run it well. I turned out to be good-looking poster boy for them. They had people to attend to me, waiting, for when I started to noticeably age.
I’m all natural and I just want to have fun. They foisted princesses on me constantly despite my protests. After I ‘accidentally’ dropped one of those princesses during a night flight like this and started a brief war by doing so, the Marriage and Heir cabinet took me seriously and backed off until my invitation to return.
With a flap of my arms, the huge glowing outlines of my wings arch back and almost touch. I bring them down with thunder and rise like a cork shot out of a bottle above the clouds.
There I can lie on my back and watch the stars, gliding aloft with only a twitch needed now and again to keep me true.
Magic gives me air to breathe for two hours. Layers of silk pajama flightsuits keep me warm.
I know I won’t be remembered as a very effective king.
I miss the days of being a prince.
tags