“Stop calling me that!” She seemed irate.

“But,” I reminded her, “You’re Remora, Queen of the Fair-Lands! You and your Guard removed the scourge that plagued us townsfolk!”

She was hurrying away, her odd footwear clicking quickly on the walk.

“My Queen!” I said, “Hasten not! I wish to gaze further on thine countenance!”

She yelled over her radiant shoulder, “I’m calling the police, you psycho!” She pulled a small device out of her pocket as she hurried, poked at it with a regal finger, then held it to her perfect ear.

“I am humbled in your presence, Milady,” I yelled as I sprinted to catch up. A sprightly one, my Queen. Though physical contact with regal blood is not permitted to the likes of me, I found myself grabbing her shoulder to arrest her puzzling retreat.

My Queen is quick. So rapid were her movements I did not see the cylinder in her hand before it sprayed an unholy chemical into my eyes. It burned like righteousness.

When my vision returns, perhaps I shall find a new Queen.