Lion Head Mesa purgatory

The Queen stresses the autonomy and right of the servants within these halls — never are they to engage in what they do not wish to. How pleasant a sentiment, Inji thinks; how few leaders out there would enforce such a rule.
The fellahin are the creative visionaries of these bedazzled halls, and Inji's eyes brighten. Oh! I-I would love to help decorate, she nods profusely. I could, um, oh, I could juice some berries to make paints, and weave bouquets of flowers, Eyes of lavender scan eagerly for approval, crinkled at the edges. I don't actually know very much about that stuff, but I'd love to learn.
She is asked of her own favorite jewelry, and to that, she has to think. I don't think I have a favorite either. I've never been given any, but they're all beautiful to me in their own ways. pondering, her gaze drifts to the ceiling briefly before falling back to meet the turquoise wonder of the Queen's. I'll have to make something for you.
The wellspring, upon reaching it, is broad and shallow, woven with red-clay and clear water. Delighted by the sight, Inji's whole body wriggles and her paws move in a giddy dance. Wired with adrenaline, her tail beats into a high-raised sway as she motions eagerly for the Queen to step in first, if she were to stay. Briefly, Inji forgets that they are boss and employee — servant and master. In her mind, they are girls together.