Royalcore
She Walks Like the Room Belongs to Her
The world is quiet when I enter.
I do not rule land, but I know the weight of sovereignty. My kingdom is found in the hush of a museum after closing, in the curve of a park bench at dusk. I wear silence like a second coat, and speak as if each word has waited centuries to be chosen. I do not need subjects, but I do wonder—sometimes—what it would mean to be seen as queen by one who already knows their place beside me.
What I'm Into: sunlit libraries, museum silence, wool coats at dusk, mother-of-pearl buttons, the ache of recognition
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