The Persecuted Hero and the Immune Emperor
Mabstama | The Notebooks: Process and Drafts — Practicing Out Loud
I am from a land where our king has total immunity.
I mean, total. Even from physical ailments. The doctors stopped examining him decades ago. “Not necessary,” they said. “His body is above biology.” Once, he sneezed during a parade, and a man was jailed for suggesting it was a cold.
I have total immunity.
He loves to remind us.
We know it isn’t true.
He knows it isn’t true.
He knows we know it isn’t true.
But still—he says it.
And somehow… it works.
The scribes call him the Persecuted Hero, framed endlessly by shadows only he can name.
The guards call him the Immune Emperor, whose breath rewrites law and whose gaze dissolves guilt.
He calls himself both, of course. Depending on the audience. Sometimes in the same sentence.
He knows the immunity was never just for him.
We know he knows it’s not just for him.
He knows we know he’s twisting it...
And yet—he says it anyway.
And somehow... it works.
He doesn’t change the rules.
The rules change themselves around him.
He bends perception of the rules until they orbit him.
Like moons. Like myths. Like apologies in advance.
I met a man once—an old minister, exiled for quoting the original charter aloud. He told me:
The Emperor isn't immune. He’s just faster than consequence. Immune to timing.
I think about that when the Emperor speaks.
I watch his words arc through the air like spells cast just before collapse.
And I wonder—so this is what genius looks like.
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