on the queen's neck glittered a refulgent diamond. underneath glittered her quailing pulse, a mirror to flutter hands. hands, too long idle, and unable in any real way to channel whatever feeling was evoked within her by the song rising from below the window. her grooming would not support it: the hands that graze only fabrics and refined foods, that touch her children only when they have been cleaned, anointed, and suckled by another. perhaps it is someone doing laundry, folding it, perhaps a stroller in the garden, maybe her own child...

unsupportable weight of reflected light gathered in a knot, a nexus of leaden rays, a killing jewel to crown the thorn. hubris, they called it. the overweening pride of royalty. strap the sweat of a nation to your throat and don't expect to drown. and why is it that equilibrium is so hard to find? the spells of dizziness assuaged by smelling salts. the uneven paving of the bent backs of men tottered over blithely with mincing steps. on the queen's neck glittered a refulgent diamond. underneath glittered her quailing pulse...