western-woods:

Ever so often you could hear it; the bright sound of the young Queen’s laugh echoing down the halls. You’d catch a sight of her, dancing around barefoot in the garden with the dryads, catching sunlight in her hair – making it seem like it was made out of pure embers. It was the fire in her soul, they said. Her burning desire to protect the ones she loved: her family, her subjects. You could not help but to smile if you laid eyes on her, or even if you simply heard the sound of her. Her brightness was infectious. She was their sun, their Queen. She was Queen Lucy, The Valiant.