There was a quiet knock on Queen Pirouette’s bedroom door. “Your Majesty?” Queried Lady Abigail Hoffenhoff. “I’ve brought you some broth. We are all worried.”
In the darkness of her bedchamber, Abigail’s voice was like a trumpet blaring in Pirouette’s ear. She couldn’t find the motivation even to reply to her best friend and chief lady-in-waiting. While she appreciated her friend’s concern, she didn’t want any intrusion. All she wanted was GarGar, her lost love. Without word of his whereabouts, her mind was wandering into places that she never knew existed. Hellish scenarios played out in her imagination. Am I going mad? She asked herself.
“Your Majesty,” persisted Abigail. “I have a note here that might interest you. I shall slide it under your door.” With a single lit candle, Pirouette examined the envelope on her floor. It was embossed with strange patterns that were exotic, yet familiar.