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He had a secret.
Well, less than a secret - nobody had figured it out yet, that was more like it.
They praised him, made speeches about how great he was, how much of a genius he was and how he’s going to achieve so much someday.
They didn’t know that it was all a lie.
Those weren’t his achievements, his solutions, his ideas. There was always someone behind him, his mother, his father, his friends.
He didn’t do anything, really. It was fake. It was all just a stupid facade that haunted him since the moment he was born, it seemed.
He confessed to them a few times, spilled it out with an anxious - mistaken for a polite - smile. He revealed the truth - that he was nothing more than a puppet with no real brains. He got close to crying one time.
”So modest” they told others, dismissing him. Each time.
Like he was lying.
Well, he was - but not about this! He shouldn’t be treated like this!
Right? His hands shook in his pockets.
He spent his whole life on this stupid throne, not understanding where it came from, trying to destroy it.
Yet the truth was he couldn’t imagine life without it.
And that hurt the most.