She stood at the door for a moment. More out of nervousness than out of the need to be dramatic, but her face was impassive. Her innate grace and the noble mien gave such an aura of assurance and inscrutability that many were afraid to breach it. And quite as few had taken it as a challenge only to be scorched by her razor sharp tongue.
None would believe that she once cleaned the very floor, she was standing on. But she had proved thousand times over that she is the worthy one. And that she was the missing princess. Taking comfort and possibly strength from such a thought, she entered the hall.
She glided through like a swan, greeting her guests in a manner that was deemed proper, only to stumble mid way due to a tedious machination called as “heels”. Thus the crown slipped from her head and rolled over to a corner.
The hostile guests didn’t leave this opportunity of mocking her and the hall resounded with eager albeit muted sniggers and snickering murmurs. Any other female would have blanched at such blatant display of hate and would have lost her calm. Not she, for she was made of tougher stuff.
Without missing a beat, she retrieved the crown and quipped, “If I am to be the queen, and indeed I am, the crown shall adjust to me, not I to it.”