Your pale hands move slowly under your soft summer sheets, tracing the routes your lovers made as they tried to find the route through to the heart of your secret city. That secret city deep in the lands of dreams and half-remembered faery tales where you sat as queen, where every whim of yours was met with alacrity. Where those who failed you were banished from the city, never to return.
A city where you sent so many eager young heroes out on quests to find the treasure that lay hidden deep in the heart of you, deep inside your faery castle that stands above the city, with its secret convoluted corridors and hidden rooms. A time when so many of those heroes fell, lost and defeated somewhere along those routes that your fingers now take, each moving finger understanding the secret routes that only they seem able to discover that leads you, and you alone, through the tangled sheets of this empty bed down to that secret room at the heart of everything that is you.
Eventually your fingers find their way to that distant room, that contains that treasure that so many have longed to find, but for which only your fingers seem capable of turning the key, as you lie there trying to recall all those years of your life you wasted in your lonely tower waiting for those princes who never made you come.