I am not a dictator.

Despite what a majority of the world believes, I do not thrive on the tears of my children nor spend every waking moment of my day plotting world domination like some sad caricature of a villain from some infantile cartoon show. Void be told, I'm not even mildly intimidating and it's a bit hurtful so many humanoids react so uncomfortably in my presence.

I find it odd dryads are allowed to be public nudists and are praised for upholding the exhibitionist customs of their ancestors while my country displays a minor degree of uncommon closeness and receives unsolicited comments from foreigners claiming to feel particularly unsettled by our culture.

Many times a year an envoy from the SRO (Species Rights Organization) is sent down to inspect the degree of truth in the outrageous rumors of mind control and despite my best attempts to show them the futility of their visits, they return the next year like a particularly unpleasant form of ceiling mold.

It's all very humiliating.

My numerous attempts to form diplomatic relations with our neighbors have all received lukewarm responses with only a few nations showing interest in further discussion. Although the export and import of goods has not ceased, my worry that they someday might has been a great motivator to keep my nation self-sufficient in the scenarios they ever did.

I've even found a way to create fuel from our refined fecal waste; Essentially devoiding the need for imported energy and saving me billions of dollars in the process.

While this fule remains a specialty of Cryla since our excretions are…unique in composition, a national holiday was created to celebrate the progress we've made from the time I first built a fire in the caves, ending only when our productivity levels began to exponentially decrease and the cities overseers began complaining publicly safety.

I've even found a way to create fuel from our refined fecal waste; Essentiallyessentially devoiding the need for importing energy resources and saving us billions of dollars in the process. While this fuel remains a specialty of Cryla since our excretions are… unique in composition, an annual festival was created to celebrate the progress we've made since the time I first made a fire in the caves. The Festival only ends when Cryla's productivity levels began to exponentially decrease and the City Overseers began to complain about public safety.

The money saved from this discovery was spent on upgrading the homes of citizens living in downtrodden neighborhoods, increasing the salaries of workers whose current labor value exceeded their pay, and starting a trust fund for citizens struggling to stay afloat following the occurrences of house fires or any weather related incidents.

All in all, some very good causes to spend a couple of billion dollars on. At least, I would have believed they were, had the media not somehow gotten news of my actions and decided my parade was just too bright not to rain on.

"Igetis Cyl, thank you for joining us today." The interviewer says as I sit precariously on the sofa provided, the previous wooden chair unfortunately flattened by my weight and size. Being a rock did not help my case.

"Thank you for having me, Carol, it is always a pleasure to be here." I grin down at her then wave at the small audience also attending the interview.

And gosh, how I wished any part of that sentence were true.

It must be my tenth time in this studio and I cannot fathom why they never manage to get the chair size right. It's really not that difficult, I'm almost tempted to bring my own chair at this point. My advisors claim it's a subtle action meant to assert dominance but so far we’ve been able to find any conclusive evidence to back up that theory.

Mrs. Hugh and I are sitting adjacent to each other, with a lovely little desk between us, a large projector at the front, and an audience in the back to make the entire process seem far less artificial and mannered. Brown hair slicked back to expose her sharp features and dressed in a blue striped pantsuit, she radiates her intentions of taking this interview very seriously; just like she did in every other meeting we've sadly had since I left isolation.

Mrs. Hugh, as the co-owner of one of the most watched entertainment programs on the continent, has been a very regular interviewer of mine for some time now, yet it's still a bit of a struggle to pinpoint exactly where her opinion about me stands.

"Tell us, Igetis Cyl," She begins, flipping open an empty folder I know does nothing but make her seem more professional. "How does it feel to be on the cover of the continental Infamy monthly magazine for three years in a row?" She asks, her expression conveying a profound sincerity at knowing the answer to her purposefully offensive question.

I'm not sure what she expects me to say.

"Well," I laugh, "Very confused and baffled, to be honest. I find it a bit surprising I'm even in the magazine at all." Much less the undefeated trice champion.

I don’t exactly leave my country with ambitions to appear in such a seedy magazine.

Her perfectly manicured eyebrows arch upwards and her red lips pull apart in a curious smirk, "So you don't think you deserve a spot on the front page?"

Do I think I'm evil?

"Not at all." I've been perfectly civil to everyone I've met post-isolation, and I really cannot remember a single instance that would make me qualified to appear in a magazine featuring mainly supervillains.

"Then let's hope you change your mind after our interview." Mrs. Hugh jokes then flips another empty page on her folder, "In a case of what some are calling your most devious scandal this year, Cryla's launch of a new brand of candy that adjusts the mindset into a…permanently happier state, has received a lot of backlash from many concerned parents around the continent." She glances toward the projector, and the screen fades into an image of bags of candies from a brand that has been in operation for half a year. "According to the data just released by HDA, the ingredients used in making just one of these joyful delights contains such large amounts of THC a single piece could inebriate an average Astorian adult." She inclines her head towards me, porcelain smooth skin gleaming slightly under the studio lights,

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

"Igetis Cyl, as a mouthpiece of the people I am obligated to ask; what were your intentions when creating such horrible- pardon my language-drugs in the form of childlike treats? To worsen our battle against edibles? Control the next generation? Or even…lure our children into addiction?"

The audience behind us gasps in shock and I zone out, creating a tense silence as they all wait for my response. A part of my mind still present at the scene informs me that I am probably… at the wrong interview. This was not remotely close to what I had made preparations for.

I wasn't even aware there was a scandal on this topic. I'm not a user of common social media and most times I'm cooped away in my country since there's usually much on my schedule.

"That's…a lot of accusations." I grin, sitting back on the sofa despite the protesting creak of its wood, "I'll admit, none of those had even crossed my mind when creating these 'joyful delight', as you call them, and pandering to children across the continent-" Except mine,"-had never been my intention so I apologize to the parents out there if I ever came across as such."

There. An apology to fix it all.

Maybe I could leave soon?

"That's wonderful," Mrs Hugh responds, her tone dashing my hopes,"But the people don't want an apology, they want answers. Why did you make them Igetis Cyl? What were your intentions?" She reiterates, seeming really interested in knowing the ethics of the whys and whats.

"I'm not sure my response would please you," I reply jokingly,

So far nothing I've said in any of my interviews has garnered anything even close to a positive response. Most times it just results in another scandal since a lot of people love taking my word out of context to push their personal narratives.

"Well," Mrs Hugh shifts, sitting up from her seat and resting her arm on the armrest. "Now you've made me more curious than I was before." She intones, earning a round of laughter from the audience at the back.

My fingers stroke the smooth velvet of my black gloves, contemplating the pros of saying the truth before deciding the cons we're much less detrimental to Crlya's already dying reputation and probably wouldn't help at all in this case. I'm beginning to understand that my sense of morality is more…idiosyncratic than I had ever expected. Sharing a significant amount of similarities with the less savory members of society than I'm comfortable with.

"My citizens can sometimes get…melancholic." I manage, watching her expression and realizing I must have said something wrong from the way it changes abruptly.

Void.

"Depression?!" She exclaims exaggeratedly, hand raised to mask her shock.

The whole studio quiets down at the question,

"Not exactly." I deny. People can get touchy when the topic relates to mental health. "More like a biological defect steadily improving with every new generation. Most Crylans are simply unable to 'process' this emotion thus resulting in numerous attempts to cope," like suicide," the candy is more akin to a suppressor for those melancholic phases than anything inherently malicious."

I'm not sure why she seemed so shocked, it was my belief that pills and antidepressants were common among many adults.

"By permanently altering their brains?"

"By subtly pushing their minds into the right condition. It's a very different concept."

And also very different from brain washing like every loves to believe.

"…" She pauses, mouth opening to speak then closing back up. Her expression goes through an interesting array of emotions before stopping at intrigue.

"…You are aware that you just described mental conditioning, right?" She asks, making eye contact, "I'm beginning to believe you're mentally conditioning your citizens, Igetis Cyl, please tell me you're not mentally conditioning your citizens."

Am I?

"I'm inclined to disagree." I laugh, the sound ringing aloud more distinctly in the silence of the studio. "Nevertheless, to rid the worries of any parent across the continent, the confectioneries are to remain an item distributed only in Cryla. And in the rare case that a person not of Crylan biology ingests them, the severity of the hallucinogenic effects are very mild, similar to Methylenedioxymethamphetamine."

The fabric of my pants pool as I raise from my seat, adjusting my hat into the correct position and flashing the camera smile.

"This has been very lovely." I nod to Mrs. Hugh and then at the audience, feeling that I've said enough on this topic to clear up the current little misunderstanding. The heels of my boots clack loudly against the tiled floor while I make my way toward the studio's dressing room to get my umbrella, ignoring the sudden uproar of the crowd.

To be honest I'm still a bit surprised the interview went so well.

My team of advisors was prepared for her to ask something relating to how the new power source might destroy the pre-existing fossil fuel industry. Even the fallout from creating a new form of explosive that could essentially fracture our continent had been prepared for, but maybe she just has more interest in candy?

Yes! An idea of how to celebrate my sudden luck emerges in my mind and I change my direction to the exit instead.

I think I'll get something from the little cake shop at the entrance.