Against the rules: The rise of the Queen
They are clean of every trick, and dupe, filled with the richness of smiles, and love.
My fingers thread through one of the gowns in the shop. A beautiful witch black, with a sweetheart neckline, and puffy sleeves that run down the entire length of the arm. A flowy tail, with a ball gown fluff, with a slit through the front. Black. Black was never a color that a princess or queen should wear, it was something that witches did or someone from brothels. But the cloth in my hand felt good. It wasn't expensive or had rich silk embezzlements, or anything fancy. It was mere beauty.
“Queen Adria”, I hear, as Meredith runs in front pulling me down to the bronze gate tucked in the corner of the road.
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