I bet it was lovely sitting atop that wall, wasn’t it Narcy?
I could just imagine the sights you saw on your ivory wall, above everything and all. That wall, whether you liked it or not, was a place of privilege.
Your matrimony to our fearless Baron meant that you ate only the finest foods, lavished in luxury, drinking the finest wines and dressing in the most obnoxious of outfits.
If you wanted the rarest fabrics, you’d get them.
Anything you wanted from atop that wall was yours if you so desired it. You looked down on everyone else by the very nature of your existence upon it. It was there that you sat, until it wasn’t enough.
You saw the way people were treated. You saw how the dictatorship of Arcadia treated the citizens of this great world and you couldn’t handle it. You went against your husband. You took the great wall of privilege he gave you and began decorating it with secrets to expose them.
And when you finally got caught, you fell from a great height. You, Narcy, had a great fall.
Tumbling from your position of power and privilege hurt. It broke you into pieces, but for some strange reason, Zeus tried to put you back together again.
The King took his horses and his men and tried piecing you back together. He hid your identity from the masses so that your existence was unknown. He put you in a bubble of protection and allowed you to exist, even broken, despite your fall from his ivory wall.
But we know the truth, don’t we Narcy?
Despite the King’s best efforts, he couldn’t really put you back together again.
He hid you in secrecy, guided you away from the witch hunt, but couldn’t stop you from being broken. He couldn’t mend those pieces. He couldn’t put you back together again.
And now, little buddy, you have a chance to regain your title as Queen. You finally have a way back onto the ivory wall of which your great fall was not so well documented.
To get back there, you have to go through little old me.
You know, threescore men and threescore more couldn’t place Humpty Dumpty as he was before.
Forty Doctors and forty wrights, couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty to rights.
And all the Kings horses and all the Kings men, couldn’t put Humpty Dumpty back together again.
You’re not threescore men, a doctor or a wright, Narcy.
You’re not a King, his horses or his men.
And winning Ring King won’t put you back together again.
There is no putting you back together again. Don’t you see? Your fall was too great, Humpty Dumpty.
Your fall was too great.