RoyallyAppointed

Tears of a Goddess “Elon!  Come quick!  There’s snow falling!”  Young Ilan called to her twin.  Elon ran to the same window and pressed his nose against the pane. “Wow!  Maybe we’ll be able to make snowmen tomorrow!”  Elon exclaimed excitedly.  The snowflakes were now coming down in a flurry of pale white outside the thick windowpane. “Bedtime, Ilan, Elon.”  G’ma Aylen said from her rocking chair by the warm fire.  G’ma always seemed to be cold, even in high summer. “But G’ma! It just st

There is a ghost still left in this machine, but all it does is sigh,          “I used to be the May Queen…” And like the wind blowing through reeds, soft and haunting, is the familiar sound of that wistful sighing the remains of a mournful cry;          “I was a queen and now I am nothing...”          “I used to be the May Queen,          when I was fair and seventeen.          The summer sun was candy sweet.          I danced carefree in my bare feet.          I had a young man's heart to share,          I wore his flowers in my hair.          My world was new and evergreen,          when I w

pure glory and powder the sheer essence of regality imbued into curvacious burgundy and emerald the voice of a goddess the words of furious passion the eye of horus we are at length unworthy but at width enlightened she speaks with charm and boiling adulation it makes us giddy unsettling it seems as all souls are hardened to blows but her wounds glimmer without marring her perfection our queen, the illustrious Emerald Queen

King of Shadow, Queen of Light - An Eternal Love. She feels him immediately on entering the room. Her pointed ears sharpen for some sound of her King of Shadow and her chest tightens as she stands, flustered yet burning with curiosity; lingering fear with guilty tendrils of excitement dance upon her mind as she awaits his disclosure. Suddenly she hears his shadowy voice; so close that he seems to reside within her own psyche, and she rapidly became apprehensive at the wilful intrusion. “Come to me, Eliorá...” The light in her heart begins to falter at the sound of his cold but alluring voice, and she could feel her glow

she stands within the echoing cathedral of alders; pale arms outstretched, beckoning to the falling darkness. silent crows peer down from between stripped and dripping branches, to behold their queen; a circlet of bone upon her brow, spiralling tattoos of frost etched into her skin. a raw wind heavy with autumnal secrets rustles her glistening feathers, and rattles the dead leaves caught in her midnight hair; creating a ghostly chorus as lustily she sings ancient corbae songs in her cracked voice. her obsidian eyes fill with starlight, and she smiles; stretching langorously as the orange light of the rising harve

Locked away in her icy solitude, she bides her time... Pacing the stones, tapping the glass; Turning obsequious madness to rhyme... Winters come, summers pass. Night after night, still she wanders the halls. Ghostly existence, barely alive; Echoes of hysteria... to a lost lover she calls, "He will soon come to me... soon to arrive." Wringing needy hands, repeatedly wailing, "My love, hurry home to me. On the black waters you are sailing... home... home to me... return from the sea." Corrupted waves of fate have already claimed his soul... She did not hear... refusing acceptance of fact, Leaping blindly into dementia's bottomless

What is expected of a Queen? Divinity? Beauty? Wisdom? Strength? Knowledge? What is a Queen? Am I she? No. What once set me above all others has slipped through the fingers of hate and time... mocking me... chastising me... murdering my soul. I reach... I look up... who is there to see me hurting? Only the circling buzzards... only the greedy crows... awaiting my final demise. What has happened? Where have all my loyal subjects gone? Only the ugly echoes of my own foul weeping do I hear in the hollow halls of my once-thriving and warm palace. My body slips from the ornate throne... I crumble to the cold marble in a heap of tea