There she stands, crown adorned,
Glory and sunlight swirling like a summer breeze around her,
Blissful Eden in her eyes and unwavering gaze across lands afar.
The last of the sun licks the horizon with such sensuality as it descends below,
In plain sight,
A figure,
Cloaked, ravenesque and unseen
Towering taller still, above and around her,
The moonlight catches the figure’s skin,
Oh how it shines!
Beauty moulded like marble and a smile so deeply rooted in each facet you’d never expect,
The eyes, deep, within the eyes,
No, further,
Further still,
Deep within stands a fleck,
a smidge,
an ever growing darkness and the hunger of a hunter nearing prey.
The darkest of figures wraps Her cloak around the queen, billowing a deep smoke all around,
Not a sound can be heard
The crown distorts and crumbles,
For the first time she looks up,
Too late.
The queen is dead, long live the Queen.
Diary of the Devilish 