Frivolousdressorder

The Queen watched from her itchy brown sack. For the first time in weeks, she smiled. The dress was absurd. It was magnificent. It was a beautiful, silent rebellion against the grey.

“Joy in clothing is a gateway vice,” he would mutter, confiscating a hat with a single, lonely feather. “Next, you’ll be wanting pockets shaped like animals.” frivolousdressorder

The Queen, meanwhile, sat in her throne room, which now resembled a very comfortable monastery. She wore a sturdy, brown sack. It itched. She missed the whisper of velvet against her ankles, the gentle weight of a pearl chandelier earring. She had issued the decree in a fit of pique after a visiting duchess had worn a dress so large it required its own postal code, blocking the main corridor for three hours. But now, boredom had set in. The Queen watched from her itchy brown sack