The queen doesn’t look very happy. Her handlers don’t look happy either. That might have something to do with me and my positioning. But, I don’t think so. You’ll see why in a minute.
In the old days when queens were queens and everybody bowed down to them, this unhappy look would be a bad thing. Not so much any more. Off with my head. Or something like that.
Now, it’s just a question of too much weight.
Skip down to the last picture. She wears that giant thing on her shoulders for three miles. That doesn’t sound like much, but how would you like to carry those giant wings around for three hours? Don’t answer. I already know the answer… you wouldn’t. I wouldn’t either.
The queen’s name? I wish I knew. I owe it to her to publish it. But, it is not on any of the Women of Class’ flyers. It is nowhere to be found on the internet. No Google. No Wiki. That’s one of the things about social clubs and this city in general. People forget little things. Like the queen’s name. Sometimes, they forget their own names. But, that’s a whole other story.
One more thing. In my own defense. The top picture. Where the queen’s hand is up? It looks like she could be saying no pictures. She’s not doing that. In a second more full body picture that I didn’t include here, it’s fairly obvious. Very high heels. Long, long ballroom gown. Those two things don’t always mix. Her raised hand is in preparation for tripping. She didn’t trip. I made that picture with a very wide angle lens… meaning I was pretty close. If she had tripped, I wouldn’t have let her fall.