Slowly and sleepily her eyes flutter as the troubadours begin their soft serenade. Pulling her shoulders back and arching her chest, she squeezes her eyes tight and rolls her head back stretching her arms out twisting them, fists clenched, then opening like an eagles talons as she brings her hands in, cupping her face. Brushing the tousled locks from her face she breaths in deeply, filling her lungs and exhales. Waving her hand dismissively, the music melts into the atmosphere.
Lying amidst a gathering of finely woven cloth and stuffed pillows, Marianne thinks forward into the day. Full of peasants and paupers, thieves and knaves, coming to her always with requests. For parcels and packages, gifts or special treatment of sorts in exchange for tokens and vouchers. Promissory letters with signatures of some purportedly trustworthy dignitary, backing their claim that payment will be made when all is said and done, accumulate by the cartload. She arises to the sound of servants bustling throughout the tower, echoing sounds of clamor up and down the halls.
The Queen refreshes in a steaming bath laced with oils and soaps from kingdoms far and wide. Piecing on the ripest of exotic fruits and berries brought in by ships just this week. She summons her musicians to soothe her whilst she delights in a delicate but flavorful brew imported from the tropics and sweetened with the finest of sugar crystals. Dressing from the varied display of colorful clothing in her wardrobe and adorning her hands and body with glittering jewelry she quickly grasps and carries the official gown of the court, as to not crumple it in travel. Her carriage will arrive shortly, for she can hear the moan and whine of the beast pulling the tired wheels up the hill towards the tower.
Hastily she heads to the gate. Careful not to stumble in her lavish heeled shoes she chose to compliment her ensemble, yet standout to exemplify her keen eye for fashion and boldness. Marianne is whisked away amid shouts of love and fare thee wells from her loved ones. To return to the Tower of Royals, only after the sun has gone down, from a long day of regulating the requests of her subjects.
Her carriage is delayed and The Queen arrives just as court is due to start session. She hurries through the back entrance, past the guards and rushes to her position on the floor. Just then she hears a shout, “MARIANNE!!!!! YOU’RE LATE AGAIN!! And where the HELL is your SMOCK!??”. “Oh, ummm…Sorry Mr. Ferrgussan, the streets were jammed and I must have left it on the bus. I was in such a rush to get here, and didn’t want to be late again. It won’t happen again, I promise. I swear.”