— Hello! Hello! Where am I?
— Don't move.
— Where are we going?
— You know very well where you are going.
— Is this some sort of joke?
— Does this look like a joke to you? The cart driver stops the cart suddenly; it lurches and your head collides painfully with the wood. He dismounts and walks around to look you in the eye. He is tall, with long hair ruffled messily by the windy ride. Who do you think you are?
— There must be some mistake. I don't know what's happening.
— The Queen will be the judge of that says the driver harshly. You decide you don't like him very much.
— Fine. Take me to this Queen of yours. And get a haircut. You realize this last outburst was a mistake before it even leaves your mouth. The driver glares at you in consternation, before wordlessly returning to his horses and resuming the ride.