She sits unadorned, sunbathing, formal and alert. Her fur shines and warms. Cares of commoners far away, far below, far from her, she stills her body and mind. The marketplace barely stirs her hearing. Despair, pain - these are for the ones who prepare her meals, bathe her body, brush her hair, for the ones removed and plain. Detractors cause no unsettling, for they are beneath her. Love serves no elixir.

Then the spell breaks, she suffers an itch, and she rolls like mad in the summering grass. Majesty released for a momentary pleasure.