This week’s one card reading: The Queen of Coins
The Queen is one to share her riches with all. She’s not a queen in the typical sense though, the people simply call her their queen because of the way she nurtures them all.
Today, she arranges buckets, upon buckets of grape tomatoes; all of which she grew in her garden. She thought it would be nice to share them with everyone, for no other reason than that she wanted them all to have some pleasure on this bright day.
She picks up one of the wooden barrels. It’s heavy — but still, it’s fine. The wood is rough on her arms; they’re tough enough, she says though. It’s a simple burden she’s willing to carry.
On the way to her first destination, The Queen sees the
town’s princess. The town deemed her a princess because of her beauty, she’s always smiling, and always engaging.
No one has ever complimented my appearance, The Queen thinks a bit wantingly. Wait, no — she immediately does away at the green vines that tempt to entwine around and capture her mind. She’s a good person, that’s enough.
The Princess drops the basket she’s holding. The roses in it all spill out. People around all rush to pick them up for her. Someone dashes into The Queen; the tomatoes seem to roll and threaten to fall out into an avalanche. The Queen squeezes the heavy bucket firm against her chest; it hurts. The pressure is a bit too much.
People pick up the roses and prick themselves on thorns. The Princess flushes graciously. The attention she bestows is dazzling.
Someone help me, please. The Queen doesn’t say this aloud; her annoyance is passive and she shows no sign of weakness. The heels of her palms threaten to bleed under the jagged wood.
The Queen somehow also yearns for that dazzling attention from The Princess. She wonders what it would be like to be acknowledged by someone so charismatic.
But she’s not going to ask for it.
The tomatoes are delivered and people are grateful.
Oh, you didn’t have to! They had all said. You’re too kind.
The Queen appreciates it. The words give her energy. Nex
t time, she’ll pass out the strawberries.
As she walks back home with empty buckets, her hands still burn a bit. No one had noticed the red marks on them.
She sees a lonely red rose on the road. She picks it up, her blood smears on the petals, but no one would be able to tell.
Only she can.