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The Queen of Diamonds is young.
He has been locked away in the palace for a decade since his childhood, under strict protection and guidance towards his destined path. He has been ripped from any semblance of a regular life, and his days are spent learning combat and politics and trade relations and all that makes the world tick. He has been hidden from the prying eyes of the curious and the unsheathed blades of the malicious, not even whispers of his features making it beyond the curtained windows and locked doors. He is the only the only heir to the throne, and he will be treated even more precious than all the diamonds that make up the kingdom’s namesake.
He is eighteen when the streets of the capital fill up with all kinds of people from near and far across the land, when chatters of excitement and murmurs of anticipation are carried by the zephyr flying through the crowd. He is eighteen when he steps out of a carriage, when he dons the finest fabrics of bronze and amber and wears the most prominent of silver glitters and gold jewelry indicative of his heritage. He is eighteen when he walks up to the podium, when his olive-green cape billows behind him as he awes the citizens with his grace and poise. He is eighteen when he finally fills in the empty thrones the previous Royals have left behind, when he is officially crowned the ruler of the kingdom.
The Queen of Diamonds is rich.
He has pillars of gold and cities of marble, he has expensive silks and varieties of furniture. He rules over the land of vanity and blitheness, and he owns treasuries filled to the brim with more riches than one could ever dream of. He has vast lands and boundless seas and everything in between and beyond, holding in his hands the world to be used at his own accord. He has a palate as expansive as his territory and an array of apparel as plentiful as the grains of sand on the beaches that mark the coastlines. His palace makes up a majority of the capital, the towering ivory walls and swaying flags casting shadows upon the infrastructure down below. His bedroom alone is bigger than some families’ entire houses, his throne room taking up the space of an entire building, his gardens stretching on to be as big as a city. He has stables of horses meant for personal use, armories of equipment only for him to wield, libraries of books that no one else could touch.
He has several servants at his disposal and an appointed Ace to work from the shadows, ready to provide whatever he asks for and heed his every order without question. He has an entire army and a legion of trained knights, ready to protect him and his possessions til the very end. He has a council of advisors and a handful of consultants, ready to assist him in all decisions he is to make and providing him with all the information he needs. He has both things and people ready to bend at his will and sometimes it feels like he sees no real difference between them, using humans like they are mere pawns for him in a gigantic game of chess.
The Queen of Diamonds is ignorant.
He knows not of the struggles of poverty, of the tribulations of the world outside his own. He knows not of the cruelty of nature and the dire circumstances the majority live in. He knows not of how the harsh winters freeze the ground solid and spread layers of brittle floe on the earth, of how the tenacious summers burn down the sprouts of budding crops and leave nothing but fading embers and ashes in their wake, of how the raging storms take any hope of steady survival and tear it apart in its rampage. He knows not of the starvation that plagues his people, of the everlasting drought that seems an inevitability more than anything else. He knows not of how the lower class struggles to get by, of the intangible value of hard work, of the woes of the universe because of how it revolves around him.
He has grown sheltered, unaware of the situations of the very people he was tasked to rule over and care for. He knows not of the life they lead; he knows not of the work they pour out from bleeding hearts every single day just to continue seeing tomorrow. He knows not, and he will continue to be that way until he’s finally put in their shoes, until his delicate feet come to know the roughness of leather boots and his smooth hands come to know the rawness of gloves against his skin. He knows not, and he will continue to be that way until he’s finally stripped of outer layers of velvets and silks, until his sensitive fingertips come to know the frigid spikes of frostbite and his fragile body comes to know the blistering heat of the summer sun.
The Queen of Diamonds is greedy.
He takes. He takes from the nation, from its people, from the trust built between them over the span of countless centuries. He takes from the golds and diamonds of the treasuries and slips the riches into his pockets, leaving nothing for those who truly need it. He takes and takes from those he can easily trample under his sole, from those who dangle on a string and are barely scraping by as is. He takes and takes from the lower class, plucking the beginnings of blossoming flowers to add to his own bountiful bouquet. He takes and takes to fund his lavish lifestyle, to feed his unbridled avarice and sinful materialism. He takes and takes to put the finest foods on his table while leaving others to starve, to dress himself extravagantly while leaving others bare, to seek refuge under protective shelter while leaving others on the streets.
He has grown sheltered, spoiled to the point where he expects the world to provide him with what he desires so long as he utters it out loud. He takes from whoever and whatever he sees fit; he takes from outstretched hands begging for respite and from empty stomachs growling for reprieve. He takes, and he will continue to be that way until he’s finally looted, until his pockets are emptied and until his pouches are lighter than a feather’s touch. He takes, and he will continue to be that way until he’s finally stolen from, until his heart knows the pain of loss and his hands know the numbing sensation of emptiness as they grasp out for what is no longer there.
The Queen of Diamonds is tyrannical.
He leads his country to war against the North, against the land of luck and fortune, against the Kingdom of Clubs that had done nothing to antagonize anyone thus far. He leads his country to war under the shackles of pleonexia that had consumed him whole, under the greed that demands he hold the world with his fingertips and crush it beneath his palms to milk it of everything that makes it worth looking at. With no remorse, he burns down villages and raises flames that lick up at the night sky while consuming every little thing in their path. With no remorse, he spills blood on the earth and paints the ground with the carmines and the vermilions and the scarlets of a population’s lifeforce. With no remorse, he conquers and conquers until there is nothing left to be pillaged anymore, until the cities are nothing but rubble and the people are nothing but corpses and the territories are nothing but dilapidated ruins of a kingdom long past. With no remorse, he takes and takes and takes again.
He leads his country with charisma unmatched, with a tongue of silver and words of gold meant to persuade and sway. He leads his country with corruption unmatched, with his personal goals overlapping with his responsibilities until they blur enough to become roughly the same thing. He leads his country with the impression that they serve him and not that he serves them, he leads his country lacking the most basic principle of his role in the first place.
The Queen of Diamonds is his childhood best friend.
They have memories together. They have memories of running through fields, of getting lost in tall blades of grass and following each other’s muffled giggles or careless footsteps. They have memories of climbing up trees, of dangling their feet precariously over the faraway ground and hiding within thick patches of leaves. They have memories of laying down on soft flowerbeds, of looking up at the clouds in the sky and watching the setting sun paint the sky in oranges and pinks until the stars peek out for them to gaze at. They would laugh and cry, their cackles carried by the wind and their tears falling into ponds so that nature is the only one that knows of this moment. They would spar together, eat together, read together, play together, and so much more. They would bring up their pinkies for promises they hope would remain unbroken, they would intertwine their fingers to remind each other that they’re still there. They have memories of a time long ago, of a distant past locked away in the depths of their hearts and left untouched throughout the years. They have memories that never quite faded even over the course of an entire decade, they have bonds that remain unbroken and bridges that remain intact and a fondness as potent as ever.
The Queen of Diamonds is pitiful.
He is burdened with the reality of deceased parents and nonexistent siblings, left to learn how to rule an entire kingdom all by himself. He is burdened with the reality of hundreds of thousands of citizens relying on him to lead them, left with the responsibilities of caring for all of these people. He is young and not even a decade old before he’s whisked away into the palace to remain there for the rest of his life, and he is not even allowed a semblance of normalcy. He is rich and not even told of money’s true value, and he is not even told of how to properly spend it. He is ignorant and not even taught of that which he does not know, and he is made to learn of politics and combat instead of morals and kindness. He is greedy and not even disciplined enough to fathom the very concept of not being able to have something go his way, and he is always given what he wants. He is tyrannical and not even guided into using his power for good, and he is never told when he’s wrong.
He is unfit to rule from the very start, but he does so anyway because the world demands it of him. The world demands too much of the people living on it, and he pays the price of his childhood for it. It is cruel, and it is merciless, and it is the world they have come to know.
The Queen of Diamonds is Dream.
And yet, that does not change anything. That does not change how his heart aches for righteousness and retribution for the people that he serves, how his values have brought him so far in life and how they are not fickle enough to be swayed by a bond from so long ago. That does not change how he leads the rebels in the charge, how he uses his training as a squire in rallying the people together to push against the last of the kingdom’s defenses. That does not change how he slams open the doors of the throne room, how his eyes immediately search for the familiar figure sitting on the throne all lax and placid, how his feet take him just a few meters away to interrupt the pleasant afternoon snack the other seems to be having.
That does not change how Sapnap raises his sword at Dream’s throat, spitting potent poison from the depths of his being at the perpetual crudely drawn smiley face on the porcelain mask.