Shadowbook

Teaser

Preview ROYALBOOK, Astor's commentary on his impossibly perfect life.

Chapter 1: This Book is About Me

I am not arrogant.

No, really, I am not. You probably do not believe me any more than my sister does.

It is true that I think highly of myself. Arrogance is caused by low self-esteem. Most people do not know that. Excessive pride with high self-esteem is called confidence, and everyone likes a confident person. Excessive pride with low self-esteem is arrogance: The way to hide your insecurity, trying to convince yourself that you are wonderful by putting other people down. No one likes an arrogant person.

I am not truly arrogant. I feel too deeply to be arrogant. I care too much. I use arrogance as a cover-up, an emotional shield, a way of soothing my anger and sadness. It does not really work, but it is the best I can do. I try to isolate myself whenever I am angry to avoid putting people down. I focus on loving myself, because I feel like no one else will. This is not true, but hiding myself away and sulking is better than making a person I love subject to my anger. I scare even myself.

Besides, when I feel sad, offended, or inadequate, it is very comforting to convince myself that I am the most wonderful, well-loved, beautiful person in the whole entire world. I do not think that this affects anyone other than myself, and the servants that I mindlessly order around. Being waited on makes me feel loved. My arrogance is an ironic plea for someone to love me. The respective adoration of my subjects helps, as well, but I would never gloat to them about how much they should love me and worship me (oh, what a great way to earn your subjects favour). So, at these moments, I instead retreat inwardly. I gloat to myself. I become very, very evil as I work through my anger, and then I regress and become a pathetic, spoilt, whimpering child, whining until I finally feel satisfied enough to return to normal. I am surprised that my staff have managed to put up with me.

I suppose, I am arrogant in the same way I hate my sister. Deep, deep down inside the thickest depths of my fluffy inner folds, I love my sister. I would give my life for her, if I really had to. However, I tell myself that I hate my sister and it is this supposed hatred of her that predominates our relationship. Deep in my folds I know that I am no better than any other human being; in fact, I would much rather be equals with everyone else than to have anyone have any kind of authority over me (except perhaps my mother). But it is certainly fun to feel superior.

Anyway, I have wings, and they do not.