There once was a king who loved to be admired.
He admired himself, of course. "I am," he would say, "perfect. I am like a god in every way. My kingdom is so very lucky to have me as their ruler." To remind the world of his greatness, he had portraits of himself painted and hung in every room of the palace. Then he ordered huge gilt-framed mirrors, and hung them in every room as well, so he could see himself in all his perfection.
Most of all he loved to have people flatter him. He was sure, so very sure, that he was always right. And when all his court gather around him in admiration, that was the most pleasant of all.
When his advisors dared to disagree or question him, he frowned and glowered, and soon they were sent away to work in distant cities, where their ideas couldn't make him uncomfortable any more. He gathered around him beautiful, rich people (but never as wealthy as he), who would hang on his every word and applaud his every deed. When he went riding in his golden carriage through the streets of the royal city, the poor people were told to stay hidden where they wouldn't offend his view.
But one day, everything changed.
One of his advisors hurried into the room, bowing. "Um, your Highness?"
The king was sitting up in bed, eating his breakfast, gazing at himself in the mirror in the corner, and was not pleased with the interruption. "Your Highness, the eastern woods are - well, they seem to be on fire." He pointed out the window.
The king sighed in exasperation, but he got out of bed to stroll over and look out the window. The sky to the east was smoky. Through the open window they could smell the sharp tang of burning woods.
"Humph. Ridiculous. You're just imagining things."
"But - Your Highness! Should we not sound the alarm? Gather our people to fight the flames, before they spread?"
"Don't be ridiculous. That's simply the sunrise. You foolish little people - you're always making a fuss about nothing. Go away." The advisor scurried out, and the king went back to admiring himself in the mirror.
A little while later, he emerged from his chambers, dressed in his most splendid clothes, and ascended the stairs to his throne. The royal company applauded, agreeing amongst themselves that he was truly a perfect king in every way. But as he adjusted his velvet robes, a servant burst into the room, her clothes smoldering. "Your Highness!" she cried. "The southern woods are burning!"
His crowd of followers rushed to the window and gasped. The sky to the south was indeed red, and flames could be seen flickering above the forest. They nudged one another and looked furtively at the king.
"Nonsense." said the king. "You're all imagining things. It's merely a bright, sunny day."
Most of the courtiers sighed in relief and smiled, but a few, exchanging worried looks, began to edge out of the room. The king, adjusting his crown, didn't notice. "I'm bored. Play me some music!" he ordered the royal musicians. As they began to play a soothing tune, he sat back in his throne and sighed with satisfaction.
Presently it began to get very hot. There was a haze of smoke. More and more courtiers were scurrying out of the room, and the song died away as the musicians, coughing, grabbed their instruments and fled. The king hummed. I shall order a Royal Holiday in my name, he thought. A day just to honor Me, in all My greatness.
Suddenly, he began to cough. Why was the air so hazy? Where was everyone? He jumped to his feet, startled, and saw that there were flames licking at the edges of the window frame. Now the curtains caught fire, and to his horror he watched as they leaped to his royal mirror and it, too, began to burn. He ran to the door, but the knob burned his hand. He shouted for his servants to come and rescue him.
There was no one left to hear.
I smell smoke...