The Sky is streaked like an aeroplane runway, double yellow lines at the roadside. Puffs of evaporated whiteness dissipate slowly, absorbed by the hungry mouth of unending blue.
The moat is a still mirror, stone and latticed brickwork sliding about on its surface like a skater on ice. Fingers of ivy snake in brilliant amber and ox-blood, splattering the castle in a web of tattoos.
She thrums her fingers on damp wood, wind battering her skin fiercely as she steps off the drawbridge; into the gloom beyond. ‘Surely,’ she thinks, ‘a queen needs a crown?’…
Copyright © 2015 by Kate W J White (All Rights Reserved)