“Mercy,” I say, throwing myself down in the Conversation Tent.

Darzee cracks a lazy eye. “You give up?” She’s all snuggled in with Balthazar. It’s a warm, lazy day.

“I’m done in,” I acknowledge.

“Well, you’d have to be,” Harley says. “Going on like you have been for way too long.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re insufferable?” I ask her. Harley is my worse-if-wiser-self, and also is the sole keeper of any and all creativity that I might ever possess.

“Often. Though usually it’s Anne saying it. Speaking of, is there any particular reason you’ve been letting her have her head lately?”

“I’m tired, Harley,” I say.

“Interesting,” Harley says.

I want to wring her neck.

“Play nice,” Darzee warns before I open my mouth. I close it and temper my thought.

“I think I need a better understanding of the Strength card,” I begin as an opening gambit. Harley waves my words away with her hand, as if they were a foul odor.

“You want to talk philosphy, talk to Jade,” she says. “Or perhaps Oracle.”

“I *want*,” I say through gritted teeth, “to reconcile all the bits of my life into something that makes me happy, not frustrated.”

“Then rebuild your crown,” Harley says. She pours herself a cup of tea. I watch the dark, dark amber liquid slip into her cup. Everything feels misty and slow, like a dream. I reach up to my forehead to touch it. My crown is gone.”

“When did that happen?” I ask.

“When you decided that you know best,” Harley says.

“Darzee?”

“You have been a little hard to get through to, as of late,” Darzee says.

“The crown was a good idea,” Harley says, as if commenting on the weather, “but you never followed it through to explore. A queen can’t effectively rule her kingdom without knowing the ins and outs of it, and knowing what her subjects need.”

“I’m a princess,” I correct. “Not a queen.”

“My little Peter Pan,” Balthazar says fondly.

I sit up. “Am I loosing the Oasis?”

Harley looks guilty, and in a rare gesture, reaches out and touches my arm. “No. No. Not that.”

“I’m so tired,” I piece together, “because I’ve broken the crown.” Fighting myself. Again and again. I hadn’t been doing a good job of making any part of myself happy; of fulfilling my own needs.

“I don’t know what to do next,” I say.

“I know,” Harley replies. “That’s why I’m here.”

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