One King, One Queen

Magdalena Daminescu
Lily was of royal lineage and naturally became the king of flowers. He ruled with grace from the height of his stem, spreading a fragrant, benevolent air over his subjects. Lately, he had been feeling misunderstood and alone. One night, restless with thoughts and unable to sleep, he sensed a scent unlike his own-softer, more delicate-coming from the edge of the flower bed. It was the call of the Queen of the Night, a modest stranger, daughter of the Moon. He bowed his regal head and was conquered by her for life, even though they only matched in fragrance.
 
 Ana Ludușan
They commuted. He was from a mining town, she from a small mountain village. They looked at each other, and crowns instantly appeared above their heads. He, as handsome as a nomad; she, as gentle as a doe. They held hands and never let go. They debated existentialism and listened to Nights in White Satin in the harshest days of communism. Until one day, he started disappearing from home. He would return hungry and dirty. She never asked a single question. She found out from Radio Free Europe that he had set himself on fire on a ski slope. Nights in White Satin.
 
 Arthur Ianoși
One king, one queen at least, that's what he imagined from the last desk, watching her through the glasses she would gently remove when they met after school in her apartment in Crângași. He loved seeing her naked, in heels, pacing the room while reciting Minulescu, as he counted the money he made from distributing Bitinex capsules. He closed his eyes and saw himself wearing a crown, fastening around her neck the necklace he had bought from Pandora. Munteanu, no sleeping in my class-you got a 4 on your exam. Goodbye, queen. You wretched hag. What a slave.

 
(Translated by Andreea Maria Liceanu / University of Bucharest, Faculty of Foreign Languages and Literatures, MTTLC, year II / Corrected by Silvia Petrescu, coordinator of the translations)