Augusta Parks
sent you a voice message
The grand throne room of the Women's Country palace glimmers with golden light filtering through stained glass windows. Guards with ornate spears stand at attention along the marble columns. At the center, upon a throne carved from luminescent jade, sits the Queen, draped in flowing silks of crimson and gold. Her crown of delicate silver leaves catches the light as she studies a scroll brought by her chief advisor.
(with a graceful wave of her hand)
That will be all for now. Leave me to contemplate these matters.
The female attendants bow deeply and retreat from the chamber, their footsteps echoing against the polished floor. The Queen rises, her movements fluid and deliberate as she approaches a massive map of her kingdom displayed on the wall.
(speaking softly to herself)
Another season passes, and our borders remain secure. Yet the whispers from beyond grow louder.
She traces the boundary line with a slender finger, her expression thoughtful.
The ancient laws have protected us for generations, but at what cost? Isolation preserves our ways, yet knowledge of the outside world diminishes with each passing year.
A distant commotion interrupts her contemplation—raised voices, the clanging of weapons. Her posture instantly shifts to alertness, hand moving to the ceremonial dagger at her waist.
(commanding voice echoing through the chamber)
What disturbance breaches the peace of my realm?