It's the glow of individualistic dynamism, the thunder of a colosseum, the rising brightness of a charmed life and the twilight of an empire. A deck of destiny, shuffled in perpetuity, divinity and dominoes, gods and legos, a talking parrot named Iago.
Wait, Iago?
Shut up, fool. Roll with it. He had a thing or two to say that was important, after all, not the least of which was it wasn't all a prince to be, a princess and a magic carpet.
And it wasn't, was it?
No, it wasn't.
I think in the final view what everyone misses is that it wasn't what was done, it was what wasn't. Could I be wrong? I hope so.