Lion Head Mesa Go Play With Your Blocks

On the Queen's throne, a foreign black pelt laid with crossed wrists.

She stared down upon the palace room, empty and barren with vacant feet. Those tall ears sat high, weight shifted to comfort before moving back to a disciplined lay. Stretching her feet, she rolled in the comfort of a Pharaoh's luxury, drowning and yearning, feeling for a rush of high that would never be touched again. She knows not what she does. She understood only- the feeling of richness, a comforted, thrilled whine with a trapezist's smile. Comfort! Comfort! Comfort! Feels good! And this.

This is how the Queen saw her people. As the Pharaoh would.

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Slipping off the throne, with a blow of her lips, she casted her fur off- nice and tidy! All done! All clean!

Then, she stretched her entire body with a big yawn on the floor, before moving to disappear to new halls and go find the food storage. They had to have had some left. She looked, starved!