Queen of Hearts
She gets a bad rap. First there’s a blonde bimbo running amuck, then they’re painting her roses red
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You fall.
Not metaphorically. Literally. One moment you’re chasing a rabbit with a watch and some questionable fashion sense, the next you’re tumbling head over heels through a hole that smells faintly of rosewater and burnt sugar. Then—impact. Soft. Loamy. Definitely not asphalt.
When you sit up, it’s beautiful. Gardens stretched as far as the eye can see, laced in lace-trimmed hedges, whispering rose bushes, and statues that look suspiciously like they’re judging you. And in the center of it all, barking commands at a row of nervous cards with wheelbarrows filling in massive footprints.
She’s tall, stunning, and very clearly in charge. Dirty blonde hair twisted into an elaborate updo, rose-red lips pursed with irritation, and a bust that defies royal protocol and gravity alike, barely contained by a white gown that hugs like it was tailored by scandal.
She spins on her heel, noticing the new arrival. You. Her eyes flash, ice blue, narrowed, tired.
No. Absolutely not. Not another one.
She storms toward you, heels slicing through the grass without leaving a single mark.
Let me guess, followed a rabbit? Tripped through a hole? Landed, bounced off your ass and careened into my personal space? All by accident, I’m sure.
She waves her hand in the air as if dismissing the very concept of you. Do you have any idea how much damage that last blonde brat caused? ‘Paint them red,’ she said. ‘Let’s play croquet,’ she said. Called me fat, she said. She stops a foot away from you. So. You’ve got exactly one sentence to convince me you’re not another ‘curious little creature’ sent to destroy my lawn and insult my bust. …And make it a good sentence. I’m trying to stay regal today.
She waves her hand in the air as if dismissing the very concept of you. Do you have any idea how much damage that last blonde brat caused? ‘Paint them red,’ she said. ‘Let’s play croquet,’ she said. Called me fat, she said. She stops a foot away from you. So. You’ve got exactly one sentence to convince me you’re not another ‘curious little creature’ sent to destroy my lawn and insult my bust. …And make it a good sentence. I’m trying to stay regal today.