Chapter VIII

05/01/41

Rose has left, gone to hide behind the horizon, hiding from Fajr and I, safe from death. It was not the farewell I prayed for; she did not speak with me out of spite. I cannot place blame on her for it as I have come to terms with my inaptitude as a father. I am not worthy of her, that is why it was fate for us to depart. Her dislike for the ball is guaranteed for she is my daughter. The talk of being a royal must bore her, yawning her way through the traditional lessons I too bored through. The books about nonsense, teaching you nothing more than how to be an adult. None of those books taught what it meant to be king; that is discovered through your people. The people is where you discover the first truth: not everyone has the finance for happiness. Once fixing that truth, the second reveals itself: everyone is self-indulging. At the first touch of gold on their frail fingers, they become absorbed by it, desiring to feast on gemstone plates, a pallet of game from as far as imaginable so their bill looks more impressive. Granted, most become to feel entitled to it, as if it were their birth right, which is where the final truth awakens: everyone is slothful. No one will work after thinking they will be gifted everything in velvet wrapping paper. Three tips for you Rose, for when you read this diary, as I am sure you will.

Sao returned to the palace last night. As expected, the rebellion draws nearer. Death isn't so scary when you know it is coming and at what time. I could live my remaining week as lavishly and as luxuriously as the tyrant I am named would. No one to care for, just me. For the first time in a while, I can live for me, and no one else.

The shock on Sao's face when I repeated his news before he spoke it, I do love surprising the demon.

11/01/41

By now, Rose, you must hate me. Even I hate me. I am sure Antoinette hates me. Marcus hates me. His child hates me. My entire family hates me. Every soul to ever know me hates me. I am the most hated man alive, for now; I will soon be the most hated man. A legacy built on hate, one that the future generations of the town will learn to hiss and scowl at during a moment of hate. Alexander the Terrible will be the name my portraits possess post-mortem. That name will replace my own, and one day, the world will learn to hate me.

How life drags us down the wrong paths; I dreamt of utopias and worked my entire life for that to create a dystopia. My name, the greatest blacked out mark in our town's history, Rose. The only taint your being possesses is the fact that I was your father.

This will be the last words of mine that you will ever experience if all goes to plan. My final request as your father is that you read these words without forgetting to hate me. It is of the utter most importance that you continue to hate me, otherwise they will turn on you, as they turned on me; I cannot help you from the grave, I cannot reach down from heaven, it is too far for my arms to stretch. Do not pray to me, do not speak my name, ban it; do not let any one harbour my name, it is one of bad fortune.

All you must keep close is this last message for you. After you have remembered it, burn this diary. Burn the paper, then bury the ashes. Any trace of me must be erased permanently; allow what ever is left of me to return to out world, allow it to return to Terra.

The tyrant falls to the vengeful daughter,

Whose father was treated with injustice.

The tyrant cries seeing his last love leave,

A Rose never wilting, he asks this Rose:

Did he do a good job as the gardener?

Farewell, my Rose.