A Kingdom Guarded by Ghosts

 Once upon a very sharp century, kings in Anatolia dropped like autumn figs. Daggers whispered, brothers vanished, heirs disappeared like bad dreams in daylight. One king, tired of dying, fed himself tiny spoonfuls of poison. Like a snake training its own venom. He called it protection. History later called it nonsense.

He could have lived simply, like a mystic with sand-colored robes and one loyal cat. But kings hate simple things. A throne without layers of velvet, servants, whispers, and danger feels like a wooden chair in a kitchen. A king without a court is just a lonely man in a shiny hat.

So he chose poison instead of peace. He chose glitter instead of safety. This is the joke life plays on power: the higher you rise, the more fragile you become. You build walls around you so tall that even your own shadow forgets your face.

A dervish knows the alley cat who strolls past his door each night. A king doesn’t know the name of the person who cooks his soup. The palace becomes a maze, filled with warm bodies and cold trust. These are the “hollow ones.” They smile, bow, carry gold trays, but if you asked your heart whether it rests near them, it would laugh and walk away.

We all do a smaller version of this. A rich man buys a house too large for his breath, hires hands to dust its corners, then lies awake suspecting those same hands might steal his silver. Better a hollow presence than no presence at all, he thinks. But hollowness is the most expensive furniture.

The powerful are not blind to ordinary people. They see the beggar rehearsing survival in his head. They see the trembling and the tired. But they love their hollow guardians more, because the emptiness feels familiar. It echoes nicely in the marble hall.

To reach a king through that emptiness is like trying to carve a tunnel through fog. Only a blade can break the spell. Waking a king with words is a fairy tale for children. Power only hears steel.

And so, the powerful sip slow poison every morning, just to keep their crown from shaking. They do not sip sadness for you. They do not lose sleep for your heart.

They would rather dance with poison than walk with truth barefoot.

So..

Go rule your words like a king / queen who doesn’t need poison training for level up.