Marble Sky
The marble swirled like a picture of the world, and the globe was in her floor. She stared at it for a moment, unblinking. Then she turned and walked away. She thought of swirling her navy robe on the floor, battling the flecked marble with shining silk. She did not.
She walked slowly to the throne that sat in the center of the wall facing the empty room, stone and simple. She did not look at the throne as she walked towards it, she looked at the inlay above it, the world hanging above her head. She looked up at it from an angle. Should the world fall, it would not fall on her. It was laid in the wall and set in stone. The marble wheel would not turn on her.
Her eyes slid to the seat. She ran one smooth finger over its perfect surface. Perfect levels, perfect lines. She sat, with no ceremony. It was an empty space anyway.
She was still for a moment, both arms on the armrests. She did not feel like a lion. She twisted, uncomfortably, and looked up at the stone. There was a halo round it, in impure white. A black marble crack ran through its marble cream, and the winding sigil running with it was interrupted in its circle. She went back to looking forward and then looked up again. The light changed, and her eyes changed their position. The sun was setting outside.
She straightened. There were large open windows ahead of her and she could see the sky through them.
Creamy clouds and a sky sun-blued were pictured in them. Birds flew across her view, and a faint chirp left its mark. She could only see the sky and the creamy clouds. They made her think of the marble on the floor. She only had one arm on the rest, and it did not lie like a lion.
The floor was very large, stretching without hindrance or interruption for a perfectly measured and perfectly executed throne room’s amount of space. There were windows on one side and a circle above the throne.
Blue cloth creased. She looked back up at the world and its off-white halo, and the black above her blue. She turned her head into her sleeve, and her hair fell into her lap.
The Queen began to cry.
She walked slowly to the throne that sat in the center of the wall facing the empty room, stone and simple. She did not look at the throne as she walked towards it, she looked at the inlay above it, the world hanging above her head. She looked up at it from an angle. Should the world fall, it would not fall on her. It was laid in the wall and set in stone. The marble wheel would not turn on her.
Her eyes slid to the seat. She ran one smooth finger over its perfect surface. Perfect levels, perfect lines. She sat, with no ceremony. It was an empty space anyway.
She was still for a moment, both arms on the armrests. She did not feel like a lion. She twisted, uncomfortably, and looked up at the stone. There was a halo round it, in impure white. A black marble crack ran through its marble cream, and the winding sigil running with it was interrupted in its circle. She went back to looking forward and then looked up again. The light changed, and her eyes changed their position. The sun was setting outside.
She straightened. There were large open windows ahead of her and she could see the sky through them.
Creamy clouds and a sky sun-blued were pictured in them. Birds flew across her view, and a faint chirp left its mark. She could only see the sky and the creamy clouds. They made her think of the marble on the floor. She only had one arm on the rest, and it did not lie like a lion.
The floor was very large, stretching without hindrance or interruption for a perfectly measured and perfectly executed throne room’s amount of space. There were windows on one side and a circle above the throne.
Blue cloth creased. She looked back up at the world and its off-white halo, and the black above her blue. She turned her head into her sleeve, and her hair fell into her lap.
The Queen began to cry.
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