The stars twinkle above you, gently pulsing as they bubble and collapse upon the backdrop of the universe.
You watch them throughout the night. Hoping for guidance. Wisdom. Assurance.
Tomorrow, your country goes to battle. You lead it, at the front, donned in the glory of armour, a canvas to be painted with the blood of your foes.
Tonight, however, you watch the stars. So far away. So vast and powerful.
And it makes you feel small.
So small. So insignificant. Which is what you need, a night before a battle. To feel small before your army roars your name. To feel insignificant as your suitors bow to you.
The crown sits in the grass next to you. You place your fingers in it, intwine them with the gold and silver leaves that tie together. Your mother and your grandmother wore it before you. They too, won great battles.
It was your mother who told you about the stars, to watch them before you fought. To be humbled by the majesty of space, to remember the forebearers of your current kingdom who flew across the stars.
So you watch the stars, bathed gently in their luminous glow, waiting for dawn to rise over the horizon at your feet.
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