Crown of Willow Boughs: Fantasy

She woke up with her hands buried deep in the rich soil of the gardens. She stood, dismayed, and looked down upon herself. Her nightgown was stained with dirt, the rich silk marred with ground-in filth, her toes grubby and brown as they peeked naked from beneath the hem. Her hair tumbled unruly from the braids she'd confined it in before retiring to her bedchamber. Her hands flew to her head, though she knew what she would find there, what she had found there the last three times she had woken in the garden. A woven wreath of willow sat upon her head. She lifted it off and stared at it. She had a circlet of gold and silver, as befitted a princess, but it was locked away in the vault wit the other crown jewels. The first time she'd waked in the garden, she'd found the circlet a plain simple circle. The second time it had been two boughs interwoven. The third time it had been an elaborate creation that mimicked the shape, not of her circlet, but of the royal crown. The thing she held in her hands now might once have been made of simple willow, but it was impossible to tell.


Inspiration: "Gingerbread Coffin" by Rasputina.
Story Potential: Medium-high. Could go interesting places, but not there yet.
Finished Length: Novel, most likely.
Notes: I don't like it that she's called "princess." I want a different word. I want a society where the farming is all done by serfs. Something damn magical happens when this woman's hands work the earth, and this is not something that she or her society can accept. Hence the sleepwalking. And now...all hell's about to break loose. Hee. Again, must resist urge to label as high potential.