All eyes were fixed on the princess as she sat regally upon the red-velvet throne, as if it had always been hers by divine right. Jasmine's emerald eyes swept over the assembly, calm yet piercing, before they turned toward the elderly priest who shuffled forward, holding the symbol of her coronation and right to rule, something craved by man and yet held by few
The chorus of hymns, which had filled the room with sacred reverence, slowly faded into silence, leaving only the soft shuffling of feet and the labored breath of the priest. His voice, frail , echoed through the chamber as he approached the raised dais, carrying the crown that had once rested upon her father's brow.
With slow, deliberate movements, the priest lifted the crown high above his head, his trembling hands hanging in the air as he came to stand before Jasmine. His voice rose in strength and clarity, as he regarded the hall
