The hallucinated movements in my peripheral vision are tricks of the fatigue.
The Queen walked this same journey’s path to her new throne. I wonder, did her cloak become frayed and torn from the thistles and brush constantly clawing, holding her back?
How did this trail look with hope calling from the destination? How does it feel to be rushing toward the light rather than fleeing the darkness?
The forest nights offer no respite, the eyes of the universe upon me. One step after another, I continue on, praying I reach the castle before the gates are closed.