By: Manal Rabiey
My soul often murmurs that I was not shaped for this fleeting age, but for a time when destiny itself was carved upon stone, when castles rose beneath the flame of torches and the echo of horns carried through the night air. I behold myself there—
a princess of ancient blood, seated upon a balcony veiled in moonlight, gazing over gardens fragrant with jasmine, where fountains spoke the secret hymns of eternity.
Never of the common multitude was I, for within me pulses the quiet grandeur of a crown that no eye has seen, yet every breath of mine remembers. A throne rests in the chambers of my spirit, carved not of gold nor marble, but of an inner sovereignty no time can erase. I would have been the princess whose voice bound hearts to love before laws, whose presence gathered the weary not with fear, but with mercy and light.
Even now, I hear the steps of knights upon the stones of memory, feel the velvet weight of forgotten robes against my shoulders. Perhaps it was no dream but a life lived once and set adrift in history’s current.
Today, though simplicity cloaks me, within me lies a palace no ruin may touch, and lands no oblivion can claim. I am still she—the princess who dwells within, keeper of unseen gates yet waiting to be opened.
