She is tired. She is so, so tired. She understands, now, why her father retired so early (why he shoved the throne onto her young shoulders in a selfish effort to save himself). In some ways, she’s angry at him for doing such a thing. In other ways, she’s glad he did. She has been taught and taught from her situation, she has grown strong under the weight of the crown, she has become who she is today because of the youngness of her age when she became queen.
But she cannot deny how tired she is. She feels years older than her actual age. Her bones ache long before they should, her mind struggles to focus, and her heart sighs. She loves the Gates, that is something she will always love no matter how tired she feels or how old she gets, but the crown is getting too heavy to bear and she struggles under the weight of it. She is no longer worthy.
So she beckons them, whoever they may be, from the hidden corners of the Gates to their magnificent Mother Tree. She knows of the recent activity at the edges of her kingdom, but she’s too tired to engage in the actions. If that is proof enough of her worthlessness, she doesn’t know what is. The flower crown atop her head continues to thrive, but the queen can sense their willingness to move on to a different head.
“Hello. For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Camelia.” Just like her father, she hasn’t thrown around her true title. Her name is Camelia, not Queen of the Gates, and she prefers it that way. “It is time the crown of the Gates is passed on to someone else.” She doesn’t look at Mast (she knows he would have wanted to be informed of her decision, but she could not bring herself to talk to him; she also knows he will be shocked, for he knows how much she adores the Gates and its people). “I’m afraid I don’t know my kingdom members as much as I would like to. So I would like to leave the voting and nominating up to you. Whoever gets the most votes will become queen or king of the Gates. Or, if you so desire, the Gates can be a kingdom-led sort of kingdom, where you can all work together to rule the kingdom or perhaps instate a council. Whatever your decision, I will support and help the winner to my fullest capability.”
Which, at this rate, isn’t very much.
But she cannot deny how tired she is. She feels years older than her actual age. Her bones ache long before they should, her mind struggles to focus, and her heart sighs. She loves the Gates, that is something she will always love no matter how tired she feels or how old she gets, but the crown is getting too heavy to bear and she struggles under the weight of it. She is no longer worthy.
So she beckons them, whoever they may be, from the hidden corners of the Gates to their magnificent Mother Tree. She knows of the recent activity at the edges of her kingdom, but she’s too tired to engage in the actions. If that is proof enough of her worthlessness, she doesn’t know what is. The flower crown atop her head continues to thrive, but the queen can sense their willingness to move on to a different head.
“Hello. For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Camelia.” Just like her father, she hasn’t thrown around her true title. Her name is Camelia, not Queen of the Gates, and she prefers it that way. “It is time the crown of the Gates is passed on to someone else.” She doesn’t look at Mast (she knows he would have wanted to be informed of her decision, but she could not bring herself to talk to him; she also knows he will be shocked, for he knows how much she adores the Gates and its people). “I’m afraid I don’t know my kingdom members as much as I would like to. So I would like to leave the voting and nominating up to you. Whoever gets the most votes will become queen or king of the Gates. Or, if you so desire, the Gates can be a kingdom-led sort of kingdom, where you can all work together to rule the kingdom or perhaps instate a council. Whatever your decision, I will support and help the winner to my fullest capability.”
Which, at this rate, isn’t very much.