Royal Proclamation of Mild Concern and Partial Confession
By Constance Crapperly, Administrative Sorceress of the Realm
Before I begin, let me state for the record that Her Majesty, the Garden Warrior Queen, did not explicitly authorize this message. She did not forbid it either, which in my professional opinion counts as permission. Besides, someone has to tell the truth about how things actually get done around here.
I, Constance Crapperly, Paper-Mage of the Realm, Keeper of the Scrolls, Wrangler of Chaos, and Unofficial Manager of Everyone’s Nonsense, hereby present this introduction so the citizens may finally understand why the Queen occasionally looks tired.
Let us begin with the daily offenders.
Amadeaus the rooster. A menace with feathers. He insists on rockin the turntable at dawn, noon, dusk, and during quiet hours. Curfew means nothing to him. I have filed seventeen noise complaints on behalf of the Realm. He has ignored all seventeen.
Weird Harold the pig. He escapes the garden at least once a day. He steals vegetables with the stealth of a trained thief and the enthusiasm of a toddler. I have personally retrieved him from the carrot patch, the herb beds, and once from the Queen’s private pantry. He was eating the royal snacks.
The Duke and Duchess. Lovely people. Well intentioned. But as you know, the Duke already had a bad tumble from the sunflower tower. I have added railings. I have added signs. I have added a rope. He still climbed it again.
Dulcinaya and Dionysus, the royal swans. Dulcinaya torments Dionysus with the dedication of a professional. He is a gentle soul. She is not. I have mediated three disputes this week alone. They do not listen.
Menu planning with Rose Marie Sage. She is brilliant. She is gifted. She is also capable of turning a simple lunch into a twelve course enchanted tasting experience that requires six hours of preparation and three assistants. I have created a form titled “Meal Reasonability Checklist.” She has not used it.
Juniper Jack. A delight. A treasure. A chatterbox. I have scheduled meetings with him that lasted longer than the Queen’s coronation ceremony. He has opinions on everything. All of them are loud.
And now, a new concern. Zach the Wizard; his Grow Potion Number 82. A very special number, apparently. I am responsible for ensuring that potion does not fall into the wrong hands. It will. It absolutely will. Sir Sprinkles will sprinkle it. An animal will drink it. Something enormous will appear in the garden. I am already preparing the paperwork.
This is the Realm. This is my life. This is why the Queen needs me, even if she pretends she does not. Someone has to keep the scrolls in order. Someone has to manage the chaos. Someone has to make sure the Duke does not climb anything taller than a pumpkin.
I am Constance Crapperly.
Loyal. Paper-Mage. Efficient.
Companion to the Garden Warrior Queen.
Keeper of the Realm’s sanity, one scroll at a time.
Please Do Not Tell the Queen I Wrote This