text: I straighten the pastel pink skirt and blazer with shaking hands. Pacing from one end to the other, I mutter words underneath my breath, each try different from the other. The cards in my hand don’t help, as they just have a few words on them. I need to show the world that I’m different. I must not be another person who can read. I need to be someone who has a stage presence, whose every word is echoing in the audience’s ears long after the speech is done. I need to leave my mark. I wish I were trained for this kind of thing, the kind of thing everyone but me is good at. Public speaking. Looking over a podium and seeing thousands of people’s eyes waiting for me to say the wrong thing, a few million’s eyes trained on me through the television screen in the comfort of their homes. If Melinda had been here, she would have handled it perfectly, her every word ringing strong and clear, her every smile genuine and carefully sprinkled throughout her speech, her sly jokes inciting light giggles and deep chuckles from the audience. I can’t even talk to my own mother without looking at my feet. I can’t even raise my voice at my own son. I can’t even stop my husband’s taunts from raining down on me. I don’t know what to do. My pacing is making Randall nervous, as he shakes his leg up and down, the chair creaking in rhythm. Taran will be in the audience with Mother, watching me like everyone else, cheering at my every word even though he may not understand all of it. He had been close to Father. Close enough to have believed us when we told him that he was just sleeping in the coffin, taking some rest and giving company to Aunt Melinda. He noticed everything, his black eyes taking in the tears and the condolences all around him. How much he understood was the question. I couldn’t expect him to understand it either, since death was the most abstract concept that even supposedly experienced adults couldn’t completely grasp. An ache spreads in my chest as I think of Father, his pockets always filled with little lemon candies and feathers which appeared everyday almost like magic. I saw all of it happen through my young eyes, my grandfather giving up the throne for the sake of a strange-sounding man, and my father wearing the crown, studded with rubies and emeralds, my sister becoming heir apparent and being a natural at it. I remember having to massage Father’s shoulders for almost months on end after he became king, as he complained about the heaviness of the crown. I didn’t realize that he wasn’t only referring to the physical aspect of it until I wore it myself. Today is the day. In a few minutes, I had to get on stage to a thousand blinking phones, cameras and reporters, and double that number of eyes, all looking at me, waiting for me to change the world or screw it up completely. Frank enters backstage and nods at me. I’m suddenly overtaken by an urge to faint on the spot. But I walk towards the curtain that is the final obstacle between me and the rest of the world. I need to do this for Father’s sake. He always loved me for me, and never forced me to be someone else. He never cared that I didn’t talk too much, but he always said that I could do it if I had to. This time, I have to. I don’t have a choice on the matter. I push the curtain to the right and walk on stage, the cheers vibrating through every bone in my body. I wave, and the crowd goes wild. I really hope that the sound of the audience will block out most of my words and the people can leave with the knowledge that I said something profound without hearing my words at all. But all my plans are ruined when I reach the podium. As if by some common signal of their own, the people shush each other. The only sound in the whole arena is me setting down my cards. I adjust the microphone only to be greeted by screeching feedback as the audience plugs their fingers into their ears with a strained look on their faces. I imagine the people at home are doing the same. What a great start to my reign as queen. I smile at them apologetically, and a hush descends in an instant. I spot Taran and Mother in the audience and see Randall edging his way towards them. I pick up my first card with my sweaty hands, careful not to drop it. Introduction. Thank you for kind wishes. Clearing my throat, I push out two words. “Hello, world.” The cheering and applause don’t stop for a good three minutes. I know because I constantly look at my watch with a polite smile on my face. As they slowly get the hint, the cheering quietens and the applause fades. I haven’t even gotten through my first card yet. “My name is Rebecca. Though for the entirety of my life, I have been called Princess Regina, but my real name is Rebecca.” My throat closes up at this point, and the people somehow understand. They cheer ‘Long live Rebecca’ until I manage to compose myself. “Now I understand that my father King Francis was loved and adored by you all. I realize that as much as I and the rest of my family are mourning, all of you are mourning too. For considering my family as yours and for taking that burden of grief upon yourselves, I thank you all.” My throat is dry. I should have brought some water along with me. I pick up my next card. Melinda. Queen. “I realize that many of you are puzzled at the fact that the younger princess is giving this speech. Many of you may be wondering why Princess Mel - I mean Princess Victoria is not the one standing here today.” The audience members consult with each other while the reporters push their microphones closer to the stage, sensing something big coming. I take in a deep breath and let it out, not knowing whether I would ever get the strength to say it. “Princess Victoria had a name too, Melinda. Her real name was Melinda. She was just like you and me. But she was different.” Everyone’s breath hitches a bit at hearing me refer to her in the past tense. “She was human, like the rest of us. She was grieving. But she was also heir apparent. She was also entrusted with the responsibility of becoming the first Queen the kingdom of Cotoria has ever had.” This was it, I had to say it. “Melinda was found dead in her chambers a day after my father’s passing. She had swallowed pills.” Pindrop silence. Then the discussion starts, the people talking over each other, some crying, others confused. I wait for the abusing, the curses and the accusations. I wait for someone to realize that I’m not meant to be here, that I’m just a cheap replacement for Melinda. Tears fall from my eyes, running down my face and washing away the makeup that my assistants had painstakingly applied. I silently apologize to Father and Melinda for not being able to live up to them. Suddenly I hear a voice. Albeit a faint one, but it is recognizable. Taran stands up on his seat, Mother trying to push him back down and failing miserably, Randall covering his face and trying not to draw attention. But I heard him. Others around him pick up what he was saying, and soon the chant begins. It swells and flows all around me, going through to my heart and dispelling all my fears. My knees are still weak, my head is still spinning, my tears are still falling. But I smile at their words, the words meant for me. Long live the Queen.