You used to be a parcel mistress, a deliverer of packages, a carrier of mail. Then you were a wanderer, searching fruitlessly across the sands for the long-gone recipients of your cargo.
Now, you are a queen.
But you do not want to be a queen.
It is not your purpose. You do not know how to rule. You know how to brave any obstacle which might face you. You know how to focus your entire being on a single task. You know how to deliver mail.
This new job was assigned to you suddenly, and you have not had much time to act. What will you do as queen? How will you keep your friends safe? What if you cannot? The thought of such a failure makes you tremble.
A Prospitian hand on your shoulder shakes you from your thoughts. The former queen, your beloved sovereign, looks at you kindly. You realize that your features are contorted in worry. She realizes this as well.
She asks you what is on your mind.
"I am afraid."
"Then you are ready." The corners of her mouth rise gently.
"It is not easy being a queen," she says. "It is much work. A queen must make difficult decisions, sometimes ones she does not wish to make. She must fight with all her will against the forces that would harm her subjects. She must be intelligent and quick. She must be true and wise and strong of heart. But above all else, she must be kind. Very few can succeed as queens."
"Yet something in you is special. You are determined, and you are just. Your heart is large and your values concrete. I can see it in your eyes: You do not give up."
"You are the most courageous carapace I have ever met," she tells you. "I know that you will make the choices you feel are the right ones. I believe in you."
You will not let her down.