A Royal Draught

My miniature throne sat ready, waiting for its master. Shuffling forward on rigid black boots, I turned and lowered myself slowly onto the silk-padded rust flake beneath the birch bark canopy. The fit was snug and solid against my resin frame. Raising my bladed glove before my grinning face, I held still as a faint midday draft whistled through the door seam, making the propped washer chime softly. Leaning my head back against the mirror shard, I let out a low, raspy wheeze of triumph into the shadows. My kingdom finally has a seated ruler.