The Crown

He thought he bought power— the gilded frame, the sparkle, the status he thought it would grant. The auctioneer’s voice, smooth as oil, whispered of treasures others could never touch. A crown, a symbol of dominion— but it was ruinous, this deal he made. He paid with gold and a hunger he thought would be satisfied. But now, in his grasp, the weight of what he holds shatters against the sharp edges of his own ambition. The stone cold crown presses down harder than he imagined— a calamity that cannot be undone. What did he think it would bring? More doors? A seat at the table? Status, yes, but not the kind he wanted. What he missed, what no one had told him, was that the crown wasn’t meant to be worn. It was meant to bury.