A Monument to My Revenge
It rose through the night like a tower of justice.
Fifty cubits of sharpened timber — a throne for the man who dared defy me.
The gallows were no secret.
I made no effort to hide them.
I wanted everyone in Susa to see it.
To know what happened to men who stood when they should have bowed.
This wasn’t just about Mordecai anymore.
This was about me.
My name. My legacy. My peace.
Tomorrow, I thought, I would finally walk through the king’s gate without his gaze drilling through me.
He would hang, and I would dine.
A Morning of Triumph — Almost
I rose early, dressed in fine linens, perfumed myself with cinnamon and clove.
This would be the day I claimed both vengeance and glory.
The king would grant my request.
The queen would host me again.
And Mordecai?
He would swing before the shadows faded from the city walls.
The Question That Shattered Everything
I entered the court with confidence.
The king, half-dressed and restless, turned to me immediately.
Before I could speak, he asked:
“What should be done for the man the king delights to honor?”
I paused only briefly.
Who else could he mean?
I smiled inwardly.
This was it.
This was mine.
The Royal Fantasy
I gave my answer like one painting a self-portrait:
A robe the king has worn.
A horse the king has ridden.
A noble leading him through the city shouting, “This is what is done for the man the king delights to honor!”
I saw it already — the people cheering, the whispers blooming into awe, the final confirmation of my place beside the throne.
And then the king said:
“Go at once. Do everything you’ve said… for Mordecai the Jew.”
My mouth dried.
My heart stopped.
Mordecai. The Jew.
The man I came to destroy.
The Humiliation Parade
And so I led him.
The horse beneath him.
The robe wrapping him.
My voice, cracked and bitter, repeating the words I had crafted for my own glory.
“This is what is done for the man the king delights to honor…”
I choked on every syllable.
The people watched — not in pity, but with amusement.
They had seen me rise.
Now they watched me bend.
The Cracks Beneath My Feet
When it was over, I ran home.
Not in anger. Not even in shame.
In fear.
For the first time, I felt it creeping behind my pride.
A trembling.
A voice whispering that the power I thought I held… was being pulled from me thread by thread.
Zeresh met me at the door.
She didn’t comfort me.
She didn’t curse Mordecai.
She only said:
“If Mordecai is of Jewish origin, and you have begun to fall before him, you will not overcome him.
You will surely come to ruin.”
And in her eyes, I saw something new.
Pity.
The Banquet Calls
Before I could process it all, before I could gather my breath, the king’s servants arrived.
“The queen’s banquet awaits.”
I was led like a man walking to a coronation.
But somewhere deep inside, I knew:
This banquet would not be mine.
