at twenty, she was a legend...

alone at long last...
a huge, cold marble bathtub in the centre of a vast, empty chamber,
silent but for the sound of the steadily dripping tap
(it echoes)
an opportunity for solitude comes so rarely these days...

how ironic that a person who once constantly craved the company of others,
who was known of her open displays of affection to all,
can now be at the pinnacle of loneliness when surrounded by a crowd.

...when they wrenched me from my homeland, all that i had known, and deposited me
in a wasteland of self-indulgence, where scathing judgement glared coldly everywhere i turned...how can they expect me to exist in such a place, to succeed when everyone
anticipates my failure?
"we are too young to rule"
their painted white faces, almost clownish, should be comical if not for the steely gaze,
mirrored on each one, inescapable...

taking revenge in the only way she can, she can't wake up from this nightmare so instead
it will be disguised as a dream. turning away from endless grey stone and too-perfect lawns,
choosing instead pink parties, pretty cakes, feathers and champagne.
...if i must be a queen at nineteen, i will do it in style...

how could they blame her, find her guilty of so many accusations?
she was just a child, thrown into the deep end of an alien world,
forced into a position she never wanted...

she dealt with it as only a child would know how.