That night
someone knocked on my door.
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someone knocked on my door.
the land would die.
” she said.
but I knew I could not. The gates were locked at night.
the queen announced a festival. She said the land was blessed. Drums played. People danced. No one spoke of the missing children.
“Be careful.”
but no sound came out.
” the queen said. “Like the others.”
the child was still.
but she was not moving.
” she said.
the room smelled bad. Like blood and smoke. There were bowls on the floor. Dark stains on the mat. The queen stood near the wall. She was washing her hands.
I heard crying. Not loud. Soft. Like someone trying not to be heard. It came from the inner room
it was one child. A boy who used to sell oranges near the gate. People said he ran away. Then a girl from the river side. Then another boy. Always poor children. Always children with no strong family.
the head maid sent me to bring water to the inner room. This had never happened before. My hands shook as I walked there.
I heard things.
at first.
they laughed it off. “She has good blood
She smiled while the child stopped breathing.
in a small town in West Africa. We had a queen. She was not born a queen. She married the king when he was already old. When he died
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