Summary
Vivian Jenna Wilson, Elon Musk’s daughter, accused her father of giving a “definitely Nazi salute” at two rallies in January, calling his actions “fucking cringe.”
In an interview with Teen Vogue, she criticized Musk’s involvement in the Trump administration and advocated for trans rights, emphasizing the importance of gender-affirming care for minors.
Wilson, who transitioned as a teen, described Musk as cold and absent, and revealed she no longer associates with him or his family.
She also expressed fear over anti-trans legislation under Trump’s administration.
Do not don the coat of a fallen cause.
The curse of its failure lingers, a specter drifting through the stories of those necromancers who dare to summon it from the dust, who seek to give flesh to bones long buried beneath defeat.
Why? Why take up arms for a dream that devoured its own children? Why believe in the facade hammered upon the anvil of despair, a shape forged for a world without light?
Does the tale end with you, a shadow standing tall above the broken, serfs and servants bent beneath the weight of your hunger, their knees cracking under the burden of your thirst, never sated, never quenched?
Fear is the plague of the weak-minded, whose souls warp and twist in the hands of hate, for a visage they do not understand. And you, you wield that fear as a maul, crushing your enemies, filling the basin of your greed with the last of their blood.
In your heart, you know the road you take, the road paved in ruin, where fortune once lay scattered like fallen leaves, now burned to ash beneath the wheels of your chariot. A lonesome path, leading only to oblivion.
Yet still, a question haunts you, woven in the rhythm of hooves upon the earth, in the cold breath of the pale horse that follows close behind, its ethereal rider whispering through the silence:
“Will I be a king? A god? If I reach the end of this road, paved with the bones of those I betrayed?” “Is it destiny that guides me to the gate of my kingdom?” “Or is it the folly of man, forever blind in his pursuit of happiness at any cost?”
This question has been answered, time and time again, its echoes carved into stone, whispered in the ruins, remembered by those who bore its horror. And still, the rider comes. Still, the pale horse treads closer.
You cannot outrun him. Your chariot, laden with the weight of your vanity, drags behind. Your horses falter, worn from carrying the spoils of your conquest. And yet, it is not too late.
Shed your burden. Turn back, submit to the wrath of those you wronged, and let fall from your hands the riches you once held so dear.
Time will judge the weight of your sins, and decide the fate of those who refuse to let the dead rest.
Do not don the coat of a fallen cause. Leave it where it lies.