On The Edge

On the mountain’s sharp ridge stood an even sharper glass castle. Inside an occupant - a shrew. Impatient, immature, impolite, intelligent, inquisitive, intolerant to speeches without the middle and especially the end. She harrowed over her kingdom below, pricking her ears at the edge where normally you’d see an eye and a telescope. Shrieking expulsion claiming the land carried out across. As the voice reached the lady of the Sharp Ridge, she shivered for a moment before calling back her right over the mountain and the hills below. With the last syllable out heir’s glass castle shattered leaving her the homeless queen.