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To the clear northern skies, I give you a King with no crown. No magnificence, no prowess, no strength in his brow. Just a little boy in a little school uniform who knows nothing of the world. Or perhaps too much.
To the radiant southern skies, I give you a Queen with no spine. A soulless facade of a woman who once stood with authority and ended up an empty crystal vase. All outside brilliance and nothing inside to give it weight. When you think you know everything, and everything you knew and loved turns into ashes, who can show you the light in this dark room? Where do you find faith when your faith was tangible, and now it’s gone?
To the great western wood, I give you a King with a double-edged tongue. A clever fox who thought he could carry the pen and the sword, and only cut his own feet with both. Mankind cannot learn forgiveness without first knowing the bitter cold of distance. You can’t grieve what you haven’t lost, and you can’t see the light at the end of the tunnel when it’s only the beginning of the journey.
To the glistening eastern seas, I give you a Queen without a flaw. A perfect specimen, a tireless warrior of wonder and innocence. The guiding light in the middle of a fog, the ringing bell of laughter, the sheer dumb luck of the Irish in the middle of a raging storm, a new stone wall that will never fall...except that, with time, walls can crack. Empires crackle, trees wither, flowers decay and the sun rises only to set every night. What can stop the sun from setting and just...never rising again?
Once upon a time, there was a man named Clive Staples Lewis, and he almost deserved it. I say almost because, as we all know, the world is not flat, and the Sun does not revolve around the Earth. As such, there are things we cannot see but are truths so absolute changing them would destroy reality as we now know it. One of them is that mercy exists for all, at all times, and its provider is as anxious to give it as we are to receive it. I say he almost deserved it, because the way he laid his own bedding to receive such grace was as much laughable as it was relatable.
Once upon a time, there was a little boy whose mother was about to die. There was a girl who was just utterly bored, and there was a Queen that wanted everything for herself. There were four siblings, chosen from the very beginning to defeat evils they couldn’t begin to imagine, and bring a time of peace they couldn’t fathom in their wildest dreams. There was a boy so absolutely insufferable he had to wear the disgustingness of his own soul before turning a new leaf, and a girl who would rather die of thirst than trust the Great I Am. And there was a point to it all, like a flashing exit sign through a dimly lit room, aiming to the way back home.
Once upon a time, there was a little boy that saw magic wherever he went, almost like a seventh sense. He had the strangest feeling that, somehow, there wasn’t a thing in this world that could satisfy him. There wasn’t a cup of tea big enough, or a book long enough, or a world with enough wonder and magic, and if there wasn’t a cup of tea, or a book, or a world, then the only explanation he could possibly come to realize was that...he didn’t belong here. And he felt it in his heart like an ache that comes and goes, like the fires of a burning bush and the stillness of a whisper, always there but not always present, and he decided to take us all with him.
To the clear northern skies I give you a King of oak and apple. Golden like the setting of a sun, magnificent. To the great eastern wood, I give you a traitor redeemed, acquired wisdom, a just ruler. To the glistening eastern seas, I give you the unshakable faith of a child, cloaked in the majesty of a Queen. To the radiant southern sun...I give you mystery. A back door, a secret entrance, a different journey with a different setting. One that hasn’t been discovered yet. Maybe it never will.