The Queen sat in her garden with her servant Gilbert, watching the butterflies float from flower to flower, collecting pollen. They were the enormous kind; the kind with wide wings and a hundred brilliant, outstanding colors. Like sleek black and sapphire blue. Some were red and orange with vibrant white spots and others were stark yellow. Each and every one of those large, spectacular creatures shined like jewels against the deep green vines and light pink buds that lined the wall. But the plant life only covered about the first twenty bricks.

The walls themselves stretched up terribly high, almost reaching The King's tower that hovered over The Queen's garden. It was connected with the castle on one side and was surrounded by those barriers of the dark grey stone on the other three sides.

When the queen tried to look up and find her husband in the tower, her eyes would fill up with harsh, violent sunshine and it was impossible to see anything but heavy and hostile light. But then, her pretty emerald green stare found her flowers again and then they found Gilbert again. And her pale skin would fill up with a gentle and rosy pink.

Every day, she tended to her collection of roses and every day, Gilbert watched in silence. He was respectful and sewed his lips shut. But at the same time, this activity flooded his mind with a reserve of questions he wasn't allowed to ask. So usually, he'd end up working and chewing up his lips like a salty sweet meat until the queen would say something to him first.

Today she said: "Do you like the red roses or the white roses, Gilbert?"

And Gilbert answered: "I don't know. I never really thought about it."

Then there was a long pause as the queen cleared away the dead leaves that had fallen onto the rich black soil. The rose bushes flourished when she cleaned them up, and almost immediately—the buds glittered like those silky colored butterflies drinking up The Queen's nectar and fluttering around nervously.

"I guess I like the red ones." The servant set a collection of fingers through his snow white hair. "Red is my favorite color."

"I'm not surprised at all."

The Queen rose up, after gently clipping a ruby rose from that pleasant bush and set it in the pocket of Gilbert's shirt. And the sleeve of her wondrous pink dress brushed ever so slightly against his heart strings, as if her fingers were strumming a harp. Then those heavy green eyes burned a passionate hole in the grass.

They stayed a long damn time.

The heels of her shoes made holes in the ground.

"Well, I've finished my gardening. Please come with me."

"Sure."

And so The Queen and Gilbert escaped back into the palace, leaving the woman's small box bursting with screaming, happy plant life.