I don’t even know.
She would dream of suns trapped inside lockets and markets selling the bones of her ancestors. Her clothes would itch and drag behind and her bare feet were swollen and burning after running through crowded streets and hot concrete. The crown on her head would slip and crinkle and try to fly away, but her fingers were quick and she kept a harsh grip, wrinkling and tearing the edges as she ran away from whatever her dreams conjured up for her.
Faceless strangers turn their heads her way, street vendors yelled and thrust their hands out, grabbing flying coins and cloths. Dogs growled and howled as they followed her down down down to the edge of the world, her toes scraping the crumbled edges and her eyes squinting to see beyond the edge -her crown ripping just when they catch her, claws and hands pulling her back to the ground. They drag her back while her feet kicked the air and her lungs ached as she screamed and how dare you how dare you drag me back to this hell I am queen I am everything and nothing and meaningless and I am queen!!!
And when she wakes, her arms bruised and her soul raw, her hand would clutch the paper crown like a jewel.
Originally published at littleoccurrences.weebly.com.