The queen walked through her garden with a train of children following close behind her while clinging to her trailing dress. She had fiery red hair wrapped into a somewhat loose bun, stray strands of copper flying around her head.

    “Miss! Miss!” A child chirped, bouncing on his feet. The queen turned to face the boy, crouching down to eye level with a smile on her face.

    “What is it, little one?”

    The boy pointed to a scraggly looking fern in a flowerbed. “There are weeds in your garden!”

    The queen followed his gaze and rose to approach the plant in question. She examined it. It was, in fact, not a weed but  a young vine that had yet to grow its first flowers. She let out a quiet laugh.

    “Not quite.”

    The children cocked their heads to the side, questions bubbling from their tiny mouths. This time, a young girl raised her hand. “What do you mean? It will steal the water from your pretty flowers.”

    The woman shook her head and sat down, patting the ground in front of her and signaling for the others to do the same. “Let me tell you all a little story.”

    She saw the faces of the children light up as they rushed to sit before her, fidgeting while they waited. She pulled a few blossoms from a nearby tree and handed one to each child

As they clutched their flowers tightly, the older woman cleared her throat as she painted a picture in their young minds.

In a beautiful kingdom sprawled out across a lush forest, there were two sisters. The oldest was to become queen on her eighteenth birthday. On the day of her coronation, she went through with the ceremony with her sister in tow. Together they ruled as sister queens and brought an era of prosperity far and wide. But know this, all good things must come to an end.

The oldest grew greedy and resentful as a little voice grew inside, convincing her that her sister had evil intentions, that she wanted the throne for herself, that she would overthrow her, or be a better ruler than herself.

That seed in her mind had sprouted, growing into an ugly darkness that spread to her heart and making her cruel and bitter. When the youngest turned 18, a grand party was hosted and her sister gave a speech in her honor. Instead of a speech, she sent out a decree. Out of hatred, she banished her sister, casting her out of her kingdom's walls like a priest to the shadows, and as the royal guard hesitantly chased the young queen out of the walls of the kingdom, the citizens in attendance sat in shocked silence, looking to each other in fear. They had seen their queen for who she was. The work was done and the seeds of that evil spread throughout the kingdom, causing chaos and rebellion. Without a use, the mother plant died, freeing the queen, her mind now her own.

When the lone queen came to, all she had left was a tattered kingdom filled with unhappy citizens who without a doubt wanted her head in a basket and a sister who saw her as nothing more than a malicious tyrant.

In that moment, she reached for her sister, only for her hand to fall onto empty space. She stumbled, catching herself on her heart, the force shattered it like a fragile glass sculpture. If you listen by the doors to the royal chamber, you just might hear the pitiful sniffles and quiet sobs of a lonely little girl who, out of greed and jealousy, yanked her sister from the flower bed as if she were but a weed, neer giving her a chance to grow.

    The red headed royal took down the mural that she had painted, pulling the children back into the present. Their faces held mixed expressions, some of curiosity, some of sadness. Each of them switched their glance from the colorful bursts that the woman had given them to her and back again.

    “Is the sister okay?” One child, a blonde little girl, asked with her hands clenched tightly into fists.

    “Yes.” the queen replied, unwavering.

    “How would you know?” A few asked in unison.

    “A damaged sprout can grow new roots and blossom with new flowers, but they leave hints of their suffering behind in their new soil. The human heart works in a similar way.” She replied, holding a young girl’s hand in hers as she held a bittersweet smile on her own face. “The wound may heal, but the scar tissue is a permanent reminder of the suffering endured.”

    “And you can see the trail?”

    “Anyone can see it, you just need a certain eye for it. It comes with age for most.” She winked, eliciting a giggle from the boys and girls before her.

    The woman’s eyes scanned her garden, catching a dandelion sprouting from her hydrangeas. She rose to her feet, calling the children after her as she walked stiffly, as if she had a rod up her spine, to the blueish plants.

The queen yanked the dandelion out by the root, much to the dismay of the children. Their faces looked shocked at her action as the ginger clapped the dirt off of her hands. “Now this, children, this is a weed.”

Once again, they look at her with curiosity. “So not every weed is ugly?” A green eyed boy inquired, hands behind his back.

The woman nodded, blowing the seeds of the dandelion into the air. “And just like that, the darkness has spread as it takes the face of something pure.”

The children gave sounds of awe as the gears in their head turned. “The dandelions you see around your village are a result of actions like this. Once a weed is spread once, it reaches everyone which is why you see them everywhere. They may be dangerous, but they are beautiful.”

As the queen’s visitors left, waving frantically as their mothers ushered them home, she remained in solemn silence, looking at the sky as white clouds passed overhead from the gentle breeze tugging them along.

    In the silence, the lonely woman whispered, her voice carried by the wind.   

Forgive me, sister.

    And somewhere across the world, a young woman with a glowing expression paused, and shook her head.