Solemn preparations were underway at the White Marble Palace. Servants polished the columns, heralds rehearsed compassionate nodding, and a court official desperately searched for a scroll on which “compassion” appeared at least as prominently as “Trumpius.”
Trumpius Caesar, Protector of All Living Rooms and self-appointed Supreme Emperor of the Secure Front Door, had proclaimed Domestic Violence Awareness Month. The court immediately translated this serious responsibility into the most urgent question of imperial government: Which camera angle made Caesar look most protective?
“Nobody should have to live in fear inside their own home,” His Majesty declared.
An entirely sound statement. The court briefly struggled with the discovery that it worked without gold trim.
But Trumpius quickly restored normal operations.
“Under my reign, that fear will be eliminated permanently. Completely. Historically. Other emperors may have fixed a window. I am fixing human relationships. Beautiful relationships. Probably the safest relationships anybody has ever seen.”
The imperial scribe cautiously recorded: “An ambitious commitment.”
The chief herald corrected him: “A victory approaching completion.”
Across Imperium Americanum, people endure violence, threats, and controlling behavior from those who should offer safety. Children need protection. Survivors need dependable support. Trumpius therefore announced that help must always be within reach.
An adviser gently explained that this required shelters, trained staff, counseling services, and reliable funding.
“Absolutely,” the emperor replied. “That is why my speech will be preserved permanently.”
“The shelters also need money.”
Trumpius regarded her with the patient bewilderment of a man discovering that marble columns do not provide counseling.
“First, we should calculate how much hope my remarks have already generated.”
The Ministry of Magnificent Compassion promptly developed a questionnaire. Support organizations could indicate whether the imperial address had helped them “tremendously,” “extraordinarily,” or “to an extent unprecedented in the history of civilization.”
A box labeled “We need additional shelter beds” was removed to keep the form uplifting.
The emperor also pledged to strengthen crisis hotlines. Initially, he envisioned golden telephones with decorative eagles. Specialists explained that the essential investment was enough qualified people to answer calls.
“Of course,” said His Majesty. “The eagle cannot be expected to handle every shift.”
For law enforcement, Trumpius promised every necessary tool. The responsible prefect presented training, effective protective measures, and coordinated procedures.
Caesar nodded approvingly.
“Excellent. Which of these tools can I hold up for the photograph?”
On accountability for perpetrators, the emperor became especially emphatic. Violence in any form was unacceptable. The court applauded so enthusiastically that the imperial schedule briefly contained more time for celebrating accountability than discussing how to deliver it.
Finally, a shelter worker spoke.
“What matters is whether somebody in danger can actually get help.”
Silence settled over the throne room. No herald could find a suitable fanfare for a sentence that neither praised Caesar nor announced a triumph.
Then Trumpius rose.
“Exactly what I have always said. Quite possibly before anybody else.”
That evening, the palace reported an overwhelming success: The proclamation had been issued, the signature was magnificent, and the emperor’s approval of his own performance was unanimous.
The shelters were still waiting for dependable funding.
Their next delivery from the palace had already shipped: a framed copy of the speech.
