MicroHorror

After all the grand festivities and a dinner of the finest French cuisine, Her Majesty retired for the evening. Three hours had passed and the Queen became restless, as if the darkness were nudging her to wake.

A misty shadow seemed to linger at the foot of her bed. The Queen, with nothing but eloquence, dismissed the presence. Beside her bed, on an antique cherry wood nightstand, were pictures of the royal family, minus the past. Very tired from the sojourn, the Queen quickly went back to sleep; however, she still felt uneasy. Shortly thereafter, the Queen heard a familiar voice in her dreams.

“Dream, my precious Queen, and know that I did love him. I wore the most exquisite lingerie, and bore two royal sons. Yet, your open public display of hatred disgusted me. How dare you call yourself a Queen? He never grew to love me because you made him believe in all your tricks, and lies! In your eyes, I was never equal, even thought of as less. No resources for poesy I suppose, as I was for the hearts of the people, not for yours. You let unscrupulous critics blame me for helping to strip the supreme power of the mystery so important for its survival. If they only knew about you, my precious Queen. I was titled ‘Queen of their Hearts’ by the public, until you… paid the paparazzi… to kill me. In my afterlife, I am still ‘The Royal American Pie,’ and you, O Canada, will be haunted. I will haunt you even on the other side, just like tonight!”

The Queen gasped and jolted upright, and an object fell in her lap. That same uneasy feeling came across as the Queen fearfully turned on the night light. The light revealed a photo with a special inscription that read:

To my loving and precious Queen.
Love,
Lady Diana