Olivia adjusts her paper crown and pulls her mother’s trench-coat like a cape over her shoulders. Her throne is borrowed from the kitchen, her sceptre a branch.
She imagines the courtiers sniggering. Her reproachful mother — ‘Acting’s foolish. Be practical like your sister’; her father reminding her girls could never be kings.
Her heart quickens, brown waves foam and rush towards her. Olivia grips her sceptre and delivers her lines with majestic authority as the waters tumble closer.
She loosens her grip. A smile signifies the rehearsal’s success. She’ll show them tomorrow that she can turn the inevitable tide.
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting these Friday Fictioneer Challenges.