Her head fitting under the crown that had hovered just out of reach.
Her shoulders broadening to match the curve of her fur-lined velvet cape.
Because, it had always been there. Not to rule over anyone or anything.
No.
It had been there as a station birthed into her. The rightful place of her own esteem.
For she was never a beggar at the table of life,
She had simply lost her way.
She had forgotten that her fingers could shine in polished pleasure, and that would be enough to smile.
She had closed her eyes and stretched out her hand, pleading for a morsel of her own creativity.
Covered in tattered linen, she had fallen asleep and allowed need to consume her.
And that was all there,
Hanging in shreds as she looked up.
Because all she had ever needed to do was stand...up.
Own the respect she held.
Stand under the light of knowing she was worthy, and had no reason for the filth of shame.
So she did.
And her throat lost the dust that begging had collected there.
Her eye opened.
Her crown shining with a diamond only meant for her.
Her stomach untied, forgetting the taste of starvation.
Her painted toes dug in from the root.
Both in form and in spirit, the wind beneath her settled to lift her away, and possibly place her gently where she could live free.
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