Work Text:
The Run-down
A kingdom once cursed with a gift hesitantly prospers. The royal line, inclusive of those married into the family, are never to die of any feasible natural or man-induced cause. Each monarch is under scrutiny of whomever commands from an “out” space. Beyond what mortals can see. (Because I have yet to actually come up with how this whole deal came to be – I’ll change this up later).
All leaders are lain to ‘rest’ in a museum or display constructed under the throne room. Who you are and how you conduct yourself and your power will seal the fine details of your death. All lives are swapped for statues – stone, marble or what have you. The mineral choice is yet another nod to the personal character of a late monarch. If you live a calm and successful reign and leave a positive impact on your kingdom and community, you turn peacefully, at what would have been the natural end of your life. In your sleep, the rock claims your body with a soft hand. You experience no pain, and the immortalisation at old age is the highest honour and achievement in the family.
If your reign calls fear and hurt on your kingdom and/or political opposition, you’re put to an early, painful end at the height of your wrath. If it takes that long to become apparent, of course – It’s a flawed system. Younger, before you cause harm, if your intentions are so clear and wicked. You’d feel it all. Every muscle petrifying, each organ failing. Movement garishly cut off.
There is grey area, moral technicalities, and you’d be punished as fit. Death is intimately tailored to fit the person.