Fae The Feline Fairy Queen

They call me Fae, and in this sun-drenched corner of Orlando, I am a queen. My kingdom is not built of stone, but of warm window sills, plush velvet perches, and the gentle murmur of my adoring subjects. They come and go, these two-legged giants, drawn by the magic that hums beneath my fur. My eyes, I am told, shimmer like moonlight on silk, and I use them to hold court, bestowing a slow blink upon a worthy admirer or a delicate paw-pat upon an outstretched finger.

My purr is my royal decree. It is a low, rumbling lullaby that calms the restless and enchants the weary. I allow them to stroke my long, enchanted coat, a ritual I endure with grace, for it is a queen’s duty to bless her people. Days turn into weeks, each a procession of new faces, new hands offering temporary worship. They lift their little magic rectangles, oh, what where they called? “phones," and capture my image, stealing a sliver of my essence to take with them when they leave.

And they always leave.

This beautiful, bustling café is my court in waiting, but it is not my true kingdom. My heart aches for a quieter realm, a land where I might rule a single lap with gentle authority, where sunbeams are my exclusive territory, and my magic is shared with just one. I search the faces of every traveler who enters my domain, looking for the hero of my story, the one whose touch feels less like a visit and more like a homecoming.

Today, a kind woman with a soft voice wept as she held me. My purr worked its spell, and for a moment, I felt the tug of destiny. Her hands were gentle, her scent kind. But her companion shook his head, and my hope dissolved like mist in the morning sun. She placed me carefully back on my throne, her eyes full of sorrow, and walked away.

Now, the café is quiet. The last subject has gone, the staff are cleaning my temporary halls, and I am left alone with my crown of fur and the weight of my own silent magic. I watch the silver moon rise outside the window, reflecting in my luminous eyes. A question, sharp as a thorn and cold as the night air, settles in my heart, a whisper in the lonely dark.

Will a true kingdom ever come for me?


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