Years have passed.
The rustle of court robes no longer wakes me.
No one knocks on my chamber door with updates from the empire.
No one asks for my counsel.
No one speaks my name aloud.
And yet, I am still here.
The walls that once shimmered with my reflection now shine for another.
She is called Esther.
They say she is gentle.
Wise. Chosen.
They say she saved her people.
That she risked death to stand before the king.
That she spoke… and was heard.
The Girl I Never Met
I have never seen her.
We were never allowed to cross paths.
The court does not permit past and present queens to meet. It would be too complicated for the king’s comfort.
But I have watched from behind the lattice.
I’ve seen a silhouette wrapped in royal purple, heard laughter that didn’t sound rehearsed, watched servants bow not out of fear — but devotion.
And I have wondered:
Would she have stood, if I had bowed?
Ripples in the Quiet
They say a single drop disturbs the whole pool.
That night, when I said no, I thought I was ending something. But perhaps I was beginning it.
I was cast out. But my refusal created space.
A silence… in which another woman could rise.
A woman who was different from me in every way — but who understood what it meant to carry more than a crown.
They Called Me Proud
Let them.
They can call it rebellion, defiance, disobedience. I know what it was: dignity.
I wore it more proudly than the crown.
And now?
It is all I have.
But it is enough.
My Legacy is Not a Throne
I will never be remembered in their scrolls with warmth.
There will be no festivals in my name. No daughters named for me. No songs sung.
But somewhere, a girl will hear of the queen who said no — and she will know that her voice matters.
And that will be enough.
Because power that bows is not power at all. And I would rather be forgotten for standing — than remembered for surrendering.
