One Queen for Another
Elira left the mountain with fire in her eyes and a blueprint in her hands. She’d had enough of waiting on revelation, tired of Maari’s slow obedience and quiet faith. The world, she thought, was ready for her vision.
With Duke’s money, she bought land—not for shelter, but for empire. A sacred brand was born overnight. Hebrew letters etched onto business cards, T-shirt s, and websites. Everything whispered “anointed,” but shouted Elira.
She rewrote her beliefs—not because she was led, but because they now served her. She taught submission but demanded devotion. She cried out the Creator’s name with every broadcast and sickeningly sweet conference call, but her eyes told the truth: this kingdom was hers.
Followers arrived in droves—some desperate for refuge, others drawn by charisma masked as calling. She crowned herself prophetess, seer, queen.
And Maari watched from afar.
“She uses His Name,” Maari whispered one night. “But honors only herself.”
Maari stood at the edge of her clearing, the scent of pine thick in the dusk air. She could almost hear Elira’s voice in the wind, commanding, correcting, drawing crowds with promises of purpose.
But Maari knew the quiet roads. She knew the long nights with no audience and the prayers that yielded only silence. She knew what it was to carry the Presence with no stage, no company car, no accolades.
“She wears crowns He never gave her,” Maari murmured. “And spends silver she did not earn at the expense of other’s blood and sweat.”
Still, Maari didn’t speak out—only wept.
Because the ones running to Elira’s kingdom thought they were fleeing Babylon. They didn’t see they were trading one queen for another.
She wrestled in prayer, in silence, in tears no one saw. Nearly a year now. Watching Elira build a monument to herself, brick by borrowed brick, all stamped with His Name.
Maari didn’t envy the crowds. She feared for them.
“They think they’ve found Zion,” she whispered, clutching her shawl, “but they’ve only found another Egypt with prettier words.”
And still, Maari waited—not to be heard, but to be true.
Gemma climbed the mountain with sun-darkened skin and a vacant stare.
Gone was the firebrand follower, the one who used to preach Elira’s praises like gospel. Her voice had been replaced by a silence that said more than sermons.
Maari poured her tea slowly. Waited.
Finally, the woman spoke.
“It wasn’t what I thought. She didn’t want the Kingdom. She wanted a throne.”
Maari nodded. She’d been wrestling nearly a year, praying someone would see it.
They were building empires
in the name of YHWH.
And He wasn’t in them.