Lace. Satin. Crystal. She stands still while maids tighten her corset. She looks at the ball gown. It is made of the deepest blue and billows out around her. She takes the velvet gloves off a pillow and pulls them on. Left hand. Right hand. They are shaking. She clasps them together, hiding her nerves. Walking over to the vanity, she sits down. Gold. Pearls. Diamonds. Her hair is braided with crystals and tied in a knot. Powder. Kohl. Perfume. She looks ready on the outside but is not within. It is a game she must play, never showing her feelings, always appearing confident, cold. She stands up and walks into the room, where her life will change. She does not know if she can do it. One foot in front of the other. One step at a time. That is how she must live. If she thinks about what is ahead, she will not be able to do what is necessary. Solemn music plays as she glides into the room. All eyes are on her as everyone rises. She stops at the dais and kneels. She looks up at the vizier, a man she has known all her life. He looks at her kindly and smiles."Are you ready to accept this burden, to carry until you die?" Taking a deep breath, she thinks, "No. No, I am not ready." But it is a delicate dance she must follow, never showing weakness. Looking up at the vizier she says,"I do not know if I am worthy." With a rueful smile, he looks at her and whispers,"You will never know when you are ready. Accepting this burden is a leap of faith. Trust yourself not to fall." She closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. When she opens them, she has decided."I accept this burden and will carry it with me until the day I die. Heart. Head. Soul. These tools I will use." The vizier nods, and she rises. Chin up. Head high. Straight back. A picture of power. She turns around, facing the chamber full of people. She feels their eyes on her. Watching. Waiting. Listening. Closing her eyes, she feels the cool metal slide onto her head. Weighing her down. The vizier whispers in her ear,"It is a heavy crown, yes?" He lets go, placing the crown on her head. Heavy. Cold. Hard. The vizier faces the hall. He yells,"All hail the Queen!" "All hail the Queen!" She looks upon the court. Removed. Confident. Regal. That is how she must seem. It is a difficult act she must put on. The court rises once more, joyous music playing this time as she walks to the balcony door. She must show the people that she is now Queen. She can back out. Before she steps outside. Once she goes outside, there is truly no going back. But if she doesn't, if she instead runs and takes off this unbearable crown, she can be free. Free from a lifetime of burden. She shakes her head. No. She would never do that. For this is her responsibility, and hers alone. It is not a choice she must make for herself, but a choice for the people. "Open the doors," she commands. The guards do so, and sunlight floods in, blinding her. She steps outside. Breathe. In. Out. Mask on. No feelings. A picture of the perfect Queen. "All hail the Queen!" Sunlight. Applause. People.