I sit lazily on the edge of my mossy garden wall, gazing down at the flowers as they sway with the gentle breeze, the moonlight reflecting against the assortment of different color petals, creating a mirage of a riptide. The weight of my husband’s passing presses down on my chest, suffocating me. I like to imagine it is a creature of mourning, or anguish, or depression nesting against my chest, creating a lovely place to rest upon my body.

“i have a kingdom to take care of,” I mutter to myself, as if reciting that will remove the ache clawing at my insides, the crippling loneliness I now feel, a gaping hole where my heart used to be. “queens mustn’t be so shaken up by an occurrence like this.” I say, emotion cracking my voice. I wander about my garden before sitting on the fountain wall, a little chiseled sculpture of a man with a leaf covering his genitals on top of the imposing pillar in the center of the fountain.

I look down at my reflection in the rippling water. Goodness, I look sickly, with dark eye bags and faint lines trace the corners of my frown. I see a face appear in the water besides mine, and my skeleton nearly jumps out my skin, I got so startled. I turn my head to face you, one of the sweetest servants I’ve ever employed. You gently slide a tulip into my unruly, white hair. I smile up at you, weary, but grateful. “thank you, my dear.”