"He was a puissant leader, brutal in the way he dictates, but ruthless in the way he commands!" said the historian, with his usual deep beach dweller voice.

"Please sir, tell me more." replied the kid. very intrigued and infatuated with the passion portrayed by the historian.

"He was still soft on the inside at the top of his power. Awaiting the salvation of his actions.

The lost salvation that never bore any fruit. His eye, gouged out by his guilt.

His other eye. Was lost in a cloudy visionary mess" 

"Who was this person?" asked the kid. "You'll find out." replied the historian. The child felt this as a threat but he let it slide, 'water under a bridge' he thought. "Carry on," the historian told himself. "Salvation from God wouldn't come and he knew it. But he couldn't help but pretend and lie to himself that it would come." The historian feels like he is with the Emperor in the story. It feels all too real for him. He could feel butterflies in his stomach, his heart beating fast. He feels more in love with this piece of history than he does with any of his wives. 

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“When he was young he told himself 'I'm no leader, vision is scary' "

"But he became a leader because he wanted to dream big."

"He wanted the fame, but not the consequences of what it would get him.

He was insatiable in his gluttony for attention."

"Could start a revolution with one provocative thought.

Not once did he care about money or power. 

History will remember him as the one who won.

Because he got what he wanted. 

He'll always be remembered as a powerful Emperor."

"What do you think of that, little one?" said The historian. 

"sir, I would like to hear more of your passion, if you would be so kind as to tell me the rest of his story?" the child asked gently but still angered by what was said earlier to him. His face a bit sour.

"Sure, little one, you know, it's nice to have somebody interested in me speaking, especially a little child like you." The historian said with a smile. The child had a very obvious look of anger in his eyes when the historian reduced him to nothing but a child. He wouldn't let this one slide. He would hold a grudge for as long as he possibly can. His face turned more sour and visibly trying to hold in his strong feelings of this matter "I'm no child, mentally." the child said. The historian just laughs it off, bends down one knee and rubs his dark hair. "Don't be so petulant, and let me tell you the rest."