the work of a queen
by Emmi Khor
The votes were in; she would soon be Queen and her words finally matter.
She sat on the throne in her finest dress, made from the cocoons of ten thousand silkworms, with sleeves of the softest feathers from twelve dozen swans. Her auburn tresses were waved to catch the sunlight in a glowing sheen. She was serene; her gossamer veil hiding her shame at the deaths she wore.
The photographer squirrelled around prompting her on how to sit, which way to look, and where to tilt her face so her crown would glisten upon her head. Her stylist was a hummingbird, hovering to fix her makeup, and then her hair.
She let them.
Underneath it all, she was a blowtorch ready to sear. Patience, she reminded herself. The time was near.
***
Her underage application had caught the media’s attention when she was eight. With her father’s over-the-phone approval, they entered the mansion and stuck a boom close to her head. “Tell the people: what do you want to be when you grow up?”
“I want to be the Queen,” she replied, in her sternest shirt and her stiffest bowtie.
They laughed. “Do you like pretty dresses and shiny jewels?”
“What does that have to do with it?” she frowned. “I want to have an effect on the country. I want to make this a better world. I can only do that if I am Queen.”
“It's a bold ambition from a pretty little thing. Wouldn't you rather be thinking about your clothes or your favourite dolls right now?”
“Will that help people?”
“You’re like a doll yourself,” they cooed, “with your auburn ringlets and your heart-shaped face―the people will love you.”
It had been years before she understood their answer.
“Come sit for the photos.”
She hadn’t yet decided if she wanted to, when they moved her small frame into place. “Can we call your maid for a change of dress and to style your hair?”
“She's not my maid. She is a talented artist who has created hairstyles for top actresses around the world.”
“Your family hired her to be your maid.”
Confounded by the truth, she held her tongue. She had never thought of her friend as a helper, and could only be offended in silence. She grew each year, watching, learning, understanding all that she would have to achieve first.
***
With the latest photoshoot complete, she returned to her private chambers. She ripped off her wig so her scalp could breathe. The next thing to go was her shameful dress of death. After tomorrow’s coronation, she would outlaw the murder of animals for clothes, burn these dresses, and replace them all with cotton suits.
Soon, her pen would strike her mark into law and she could get some real work done.
BIO: Emmi writes from the land downunder where bunyips are rumored to reside. She uses words to make sense of her world and hopes that one day, the world will make sense of her words too. Her stories appear in Cast of Wonders, Factor Four, and Inner Worlds magazine. She is a 2024 Aurealis Awards Finalist, and was shortlisted in The Best Australian Yarn 2024. She can be found pondering, rejoicing, or wallowing at Bsky, X, and Instagram @emmikhor.