Heir To The Ten-Foot Throne

Jennifer Davis had never believed in afterlives, gods, or cosmic mistakes.

She believed in iced coffee, sarcasm, and showing up five minutes early to her shift at the bookstore.

But then a drunk driver blew through a red light—

And everything went dark.

When she opened her eyes, she wasn’t on a street.

She was standing in a blindingly white room.

No ceiling, no shadows, no sound.

Except—

Three doors floated in front of her.

One red.

One blue.

One green.

A voice—not loud, but everywhere—spoke:

“Jennifer Davis, your death was...unscheduled.”

Jennifer blinked “Excuse me? I died wrong?”

“Incorrect timing. Incorrect sequence. You were never meant to die at twenty-one.”

“Oh great.” Shelly groaned as she threw her head back in frustration. “Even death thinks I’m a mistake.”

“Choose a new life. You may not return. You may not ask what lies behind each door. You may only choose.”

Jennifer stared at the doors

The red door pulsed violently making Jennifer feel uneasy.

The green door flickered causing Jennifer to instinctively back away.

The blue door glowed softly- calm, steady. Jennifer couldn’t explain it but it made her feel safe.

Her gut chose for her.

She reached out touching the blue door and the white room shattered like glass, the light glowing even brighter than before. Jennifer thought she should be scared, but she wasn’t as she felt warmth wash over her.

Jennifer awoke to the strangest ceiling she had ever seen.

Carved ivory.

Swirling floral patterns.

Faint blue luminescent veins that pulsed like living rivers.

She sat up and froze, everything was huge.

The bed looked to be the right size for someone 15 feet tall.

The room itself was large possibly putting a skyscraper to shame. But the design would have had Leonardo da Vinci weeping, the walls when seen up close, every stroke is impossibly fine, thinner than a strand of hair, and yet filled with color gradients smoother than water flowing over silk. Some lines shimmer with iridescence, as though the artist mixed light into the pigment.

The chairs, what draws the eye first are the carvings—so elaborate, so impossibly detailed—that one could spend hours tracing the patterns and still find something new. Twisting vines intertwine with sweeping arcs, each leaf and petal etched with such delicate precision that they appear soft to the touch. Tiny animals—foxes, songbirds, even a hidden dragon—peek from between the foliage, each one rendered with lifelike clarity.

The door. The door stands tall and impossibly smooth, its surface neither wood nor metal but something in between—something that feels alive. At first glance, it appears still, but then, softly, like the slow beat of a distant heart, it pulses. With each gentle thrum, light ripples beneath its surface. A soft glow blooms from within the material, spreading outward in delicate waves. The colors shift subtly at first—warm amber melting into pale rose, rose fading into lavender, lavender deepening into a cool, serene blue. The hues dance across the door in a rhythm that feels almost breathing, as if the door itself inhales color and exhales light.

The door then suddenly opens with urgency, and, as if it can feel it, the colors change rapidly.

Five enormous figures stepped inside—

each ten to twelve feet tall, wearing crowns the base is a smooth, flawless circlet, thick enough to suggest strength but refined enough to appear elegant. Along its edge runs a delicate braid of gold filigree, so finely twisted it resembles spun sunlight captured in metal. Every curve of the filigree is perfectly symmetrical, a testament to artisans who devoted their lives to perfection. Rising from the circlet are eight sweeping golden arches, each one sculpted to look like a slender, upward-reaching flame. These arches curve inward as they ascend, meeting delicately at the crown’s apex, forming a natural dome. The gold here is polished to a mirror shine, catching and scattering the faintest light like a halo.

Their skin complexion was a natural, earthy tan, warm and steady like desert sand at dusk. But their eyes, their eyes were a striking amber, rich and warm like molten honey caught in sunlight. The color glowed from within, alive and shifting, as if a tiny flame flickered behind each iris. But what made them unforgettable were the fragments of green—

delicate shards of emerald scattered through the amber like precious stones embedded in glass. They glimmered when they turned their heads, catching the light in fleeting flashes, bright enough to look deliberate, almost crafted.

Jennifer’s scream tore from her throat before she could stop it—raw, sharp, and instinctive. It echoed through the clearing, bouncing off the walls and silence alike, but she hardly heard it over the thunder of her own heartbeat.

Her scream weakened into a shaky gasp as she stumbled backward, unable to tear her eyes away. Every instinct screamed danger, awe, and disbelief all at once. The air around them seemed to thicken, charged with a presence too powerful to ignore.

One of the giants tilted his head—just slightly—those impossible eyes locking onto hers with a mixture of curiosity and quiet, overwhelming strength.

The second giant’s gaze locked onto her like a physical force.

He didn’t move.

He didn’t speak.

He simply glared—and the world seemed to narrow to the space between them.

His eyes, a molten amber threaded with sharp fragments of emerald, burned with an intensity that made her breath catch mid-air. Those colors, normally mesmerizing, now felt like a warning—alive with a hard, simmering power that pinned her where she stood.

The glare deepened. His brows lowered just a fraction, but on a fifteen-foot giant, the small movement felt seismic. The emerald flecks in his eyes flashed like sparks struck from metal.

Her entire body went rigid, she then saw two other giants.

The two giants stood side by side, towering above her like living mountains, yet their expressions were anything but threatening. Their sheer size should have been intimidating—fifteen-foot figures with crowns of gold and skin like warm bronze—but the look in their eyes shifted the air between them.

Both pairs of amber-and-emerald eyes were fixed on her, glowing softly beneath the shimmer of their intricate crowns. The usual brilliance within those eyes—those molten hues and gemlike flecks—seemed dimmed, clouded by something unmistakable:

Concern.

Worry.

Uneasy restraint.

The first giant tilted his head slightly, a crease forming between his brows. For someone so vast, the movement was surprisingly gentle, almost hesitant. His gaze swept over her face, lingering as though searching for signs of pain she hadn’t voiced. His lips parted as if to speak, but the words died, replaced by a heavy exhale that trembled the ground beneath her feet.

The second giant took a slow, careful step closer—so slow it felt like watching a mountain shift. His tan skin caught the light in deep, warm tones, but there was tension in the set of his jaw. His eyes softened, the emerald flecks swirling with muted light, and he lowered himself ever so slightly to better see her.

They exchanged a brief look over her head—silent, weighted.

A communication without words.

Then both returned their gaze to her.

The last giant stood perfectly still, towering above her like a monument carved from warm bronze. Yet the expression on his face—so stark, so unmistakably human—made his immense presence feel strangely fragile.

His amber eyes, laced with glimmering fragments of emerald, locked onto her with an intensity that stole her breath. At first, all she saw in them was worry—a deep, aching kind of concern that tightened the lines around his eyes and pulled his brows together. His gaze moved over her slowly, as if checking every inch of her to make sure she was truly standing there, unhurt.

But then something shifted.

A long, unsteady breath escaped him, and the rigid tension in his shoulders eased. The emerald flecks in his eyes brightened, flickering like sparks of light breaking through storm clouds. Relief washed over his features—softening his jaw, loosening the hard set of his mouth, and smoothing the troubled creases on his forehead.

He then approached her, his voice thunderous:

“Princess Jennifer. You are awake.”

Jennifer felt like the world was slipping sideways.

Her vision blurred at the edges, colors smearing together—the warm bronze of their skin, the gold flash of their crowns, the dazzling amber-emerald glow of their eyes. Her heartbeat roared in her ears, then faded into a distant thrum.

She tried to step back.

Her legs refused.

The room tilted.

A soft gasp escaped her lips as darkness rushed in, cool and unforgiving.

The last thing she saw was five giant faces leaning toward her—each lined with shock, fear, and a desperate edge of protectiveness—before everything went black and she crumpled into waiting hands the size of shields.