
by Bill Tiepelman
Queen of the Gossamer Hive
The Buzzening It began on a Tuesday, which was already suspicious. Tuesdays have a way of feeling like Mondays in a cheaper outfit, and this one had a particularly uncanny vibe—like reality was wearing its seams inside out. Desmond Flarrow, mild-mannered beekeeper and semi-retired baritone, stood ankle-deep in clover, admiring his hive and nursing a lukewarm thermos of chamomile gin. It was his daily ritual: check the bees, mutter something poetic, then go inside and pretend to write a novel. But today, something was... humming. Not just the usual bee buzz, but a rich, harmonic vibration that shimmered through the air like a choir of tuning forks singing in Latin. The clover swayed as though tickled by unseen hands, and the sky—was that glitter? From the heart of Hive 7, the one Desmond always suspected was a little “extra,” erupted a flash of gold and cobalt light. The top of the hive popped off like a champagne cork, releasing a scent somewhere between caramel thunder and ancient spellbook. Then, from the misty interior, she emerged. Not a queen bee. The Queen. The mother of buzz. The feathered empress of nectar. She hovered five feet in the air, wings vibrating with lace-like precision, her fur a velvet tapestry of burnt orange, turquoise, and secrets. Eyes like midnight gemstones. She was part insect, part divine fashion statement, and 100% not supposed to be real. "Hello, Desmond," she said, her voice like wind chimes at a burlesque show. "I’m Queen Aurelia. We’ve got work to do." Desmond, to his credit, only spilled half his gin. Before he could ask how or why a bee was speaking to him—and doing it with more charisma than most mayors—Queen Aurelia extended a wing, traced a circle in the air, and opened a glowing portal made entirely of honeycomb patterns and electric tangerine light. "You’ve been chosen," she said. "You’re not just a beekeeper, Desmond. You’re the Keeper of the Old Nectar." "The what-now?" he stammered, already feeling the pull of the portal. His feet lifted off the ground as if the grass had given up on gravity. He floated toward the opening, gin thermos still clutched in one trembling hand. "You’ll understand soon," she purred. "But for now, hold on tight. We’re going beyond the veil. And there’s a bureaucratic centipede who owes me a favor." And with that, they vanished into the glowing vortex, leaving only a scorched clover patch and a very confused squirrel behind. The Nectarverse Bureaucracy and the Dance of Seven Stingers Desmond landed not with a thud, but with the disconcerting squelch of a mushroom sofa. The realm around him pulsed with soft light and whispered in six dialects of Bee. He was inside the Nectarverse—a hidden dimension somewhere between dream logic, jazz improv, and the inside of a Fabergé egg. Everything sparkled, but also somehow smelled faintly of smoked paprika and regret. Queen Aurelia fluttered beside him, radiating confidence and pheromonal majesty. “Welcome to Central Apis,” she declared. “The capital of the pollinational multirealm.” “It’s... weirdly moist,” Desmond muttered, brushing a small constellation of glittering beetles off his shoulder. One of them gave him a tiny thumbs-up. He would later discover this was a political gesture, and he had accidentally committed to sponsoring a dung beetle election campaign. They were greeted by a footman—a centipede in a waistcoat with a monocle on each of his first eight eyes. “Her Majesty Queen Aurelia, Sovereign of Pollenlight, Duchess of Dandelion Dust, and Keeper of the Forbidden Buzz,” he intoned. “And... guest.” Desmond waved sheepishly. “Hi. Just here for the ride, honestly.” Queen Aurelia ignored the formalities. “We need a pass to the Blooming Courts. The Queen of Hornets is stirring again.” The centipede sniffed and unfurled a scroll longer than a tailgate party. “You’ll need to submit Form Bee-17B, request an audience with the Floral Conclave, and schedule a pollen audit. Oh, and your human companion must undergo the Trial of Seven Stingers.” Desmond’s voice cracked. “I’m sorry—the what?” He was immediately whisked away by a swarm of very polite moths in tuxedos, leaving Aurelia behind with the centipede and some impressively tense diplomatic stares. He was flown into a glowing amphitheater made of thistleglass and echoing with murmurs of ancient pollen law. At the center: a circle of thrones shaped like giant flower pistils. On each sat a member of the **Council of Seven Stingers**, draped in pollen-robes and judging everyone with the kind of intensity usually reserved for drag queens and dental hygienists. “State your nectar lineage!” one barked. “Um. I like honey in my tea?” “Unacceptable!” shouted another. “Perform the Dance of Seven Stingers or face eternal reclassification as Floral Debris!” Desmond, not a man of movement, stared into the glowing dance pit. Music began: part techno, part beeswax gospel. A drone passed him a glittering leotard with sequins that spelled “BUZZWORTHY” in six languages. The choice was clear: dance or die. What followed was thirty-seven minutes of increasingly erratic flailing, interpretive twirls, and one accidental summoning of a pollen storm spirit named Todd. The crowd roared. The Council wept. One old wasp knight whispered, “He has the nectar in him.” Back in the foyer of fragrant madness, Queen Aurelia was sipping nectar out of a chalice shaped like a tulip martini glass when Desmond returned, panting and slightly radioactive. “Did I pass?” he croaked. “Oh yes,” she beamed. “Not only did you pass, you’re now legally considered a Demi-Buzz Entity. It comes with dental.” With the bureaucratic nonsense cleared, Aurelia flared her wings, casting dazzling patterns of sacred geometry across the realm. The air vibrated with anticipation. “Now,” she said, “to the Blooming Courts. The Queen of Hornets is plotting to rewrite the Floral Constitution. And I need someone who can dance the unholy pollen out of her.” Desmond blinked. “You want me to dance again?” “Oh, sweetheart,” she smirked, “we’re just getting started.” And with that, they vanished once more into a swirl of chromatic light, ready to face conspiracy, chaos, and at least one ballroom showdown that would be remembered in bee folklore for centuries to come. 🛍️ Take a Piece of the Hive Home If you’re still buzzing from Desmond’s dance of destiny and Queen Aurelia’s gilded glory, why not bring a bit of that enchantment into your own realm? Canvas prints of Queen of the Gossamer Hive capture every luminous detail, while the tapestry turns your wall into a portal to the Nectarverse itself. Sip your own brew like a demi-buzz deity with a mug, cuddle up with a throw pillow, or flaunt your allegiance to the hive with a tote bag. And yes, there’s even a sticker for those of you who want to make your laptop or journal 86% more royal. Long live the buzz!