I wasn’t ready to be done. Emma’s birthday was the next week. I was going to sit her on my knee and tell her about the time I went to Italy with Julia, long before we had kids. Long before we got married, for that matter. I saw a painting that looked just like Emma; the girl in the painting was a beautiful, regal queen. I wanted Emma to know she was a queen.”If ghosts could cry, Mr. Grumpy would be crying. He looked at Richard. “Do you think she knows she is a queen?
Clare Bohning, The Fleetwood Skies
fantasy-fiction