Her pen struck the desk with a little more force than she intended.

She glanced over the speech one last time, but her eyes merely went through the motions—she knew she needed to repeat the words aloud, but that wasn’t what was going through her head at the moment. She was already thinking about the after, for after a few days, when this change began to settle, she knew what the rest of her life would be.

Obsolete.

But then, she had never really mattered after all, had she? Her country, her world, was going to the ultimate power that she could never really compete with.

So she sat back in her chair, and let the director tell her one last time where to look, and how to read from the teleprompter. She’d done this a thousand times, and what had been annoyance once now felt like an important tradition.

The lights went on, and the director counted from five, four, his fingers went up and counted down from three, two…

“Citizens,” she began, then faltered. “My people,” she corrected, already add-libbing and setting the teleprompter off center. She could feel the nausea pulsing in her stomach, but she’d been doing this a long time, so she never let it show on her face.

“Ages ago, we began as nothing more than a few people who came together for the warmth of a fire and for safety. Can you imagine our ancestors, sleeping in the fields, looking up at the stars and wondering what more was there? I know I can—for I have wondered it too,myself, since I was a little girl.

“What dreams I had, what dreams we all must have shared at one time. Imagining the greatness of ourselves, when, in my years since, I realize was only possible when all of us come together.”

She steadied herself for a moment, pushing the tip of her thumbnail into the soft meat of her palm. It was a place that no one could see, despite her hands being placed delicately right on top of the table before her.

“Some of you have known me as the queen since the beginning of your life. Some of you may have been alongside me during this reign, yet others have known me perhaps as only their queen for a day.

“These years have not been without their calamities, their strife. But for each trial that was laid before us, when we came together, we saw it through. Because that’s the difference, you see: no matter what, you will always get through to the other side. Wouldn’t we all wish that journey to be full of community? Wouldn’t we rather find a hand to hold in the darkness, than to hear blame and anger screeching through the long night?

“I think back on those ancestors, and I know they chose community, and we can, too, continue to walk that path. But we must do it consciously. We must reach out for one another.”

She intentionally did not look to her left, toward the window outside. She would see her foe in all her glory if she did—but no, she would bow out with grace, with intent.

“It has been an honor to serve as your queen, but today, I abdicate to the forces of Nature. Long may she reign.”

It was the final line, but the next words came out of her before she could think, before the director could turn off the camera.

“And godspeed to you all—!”

Outside, the wind howled and the rain spat on the window with as much force as the heat of a wildfire. The hurricane grew stronger at her final words, and the whistling sound the storm made through the bending trees carried throughout the palace. Nature had seen her bow, and it was not enough.

The door slammed open and the window shattered at her left. Someone ran forward to shield her from the broken glass, but it pelted her anyway. She raised her arms over her head, shaking as vigorously as the winds tore the room apart. Whomever had tried to shield her was tossed out the window, and she desperately clung on to the desk before her. She had no strength, but survival was ingrained deep in her bones, as deep as the need to look up at the stars and hope.

Your reign is over, said Nature. Long live the Queen.