Queen

• Evie Van Wijk
• Short Story
• 2017

The sky was Ouranus's black abyss, where stars loomed above the Earth, shining with an ancient beauty that only stars possessed. The queen stared at these stars, wishing, wishing. Wishing for her kingdom to be safe, wishing for her people to be safe. In her mind, a selfish thought reigned. She wished herself to be safe. But she was a queen. A queen ruling over a realm where people were afraid. Afraid of dragons that huffed fire that burnt everything in its path into ash, afraid of the rebels that threatened to rupture their peaceful living and simply afraid of the unspoken word that was forbidden to be said. Hope. The queen bit her lip and looked back to her room. A four-poster bed draped with lilac sheets, pillows made of flaxen gold. Why did she of all people deserve these luxuries? Why her? The answer came back to her like a silver bullet ricocheting on a wall. Because she was a queen and queens were born to be queens. She was a voice of confidence, of reason, of... She took a deep breath. She was a voice of hope. Picking up her velvety skirts, she turned around. The queen smiled and went to face the people. Her people.