𝐋𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐄́ 𝐃𝐔 𝐌𝐀𝐋

𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘌𝘳𝘢 𝘰𝘧 𝘘𝘶𝘦𝘦𝘯𝘴

The crown, glistening, glittering, glinting,
Sits on her head in all her glory ;
An ephemeral loss of memory of all the gore
That stained her hands and her lore.

Her people, singing sweet songs of nothings
Lie, telling her they can't hope for a better Queen,
Setting aside their spleen and what they could have been.

"Will the riches of your halo, Your Grace,
Reflect your soul and your embrace?"
The people asks. The Queen replies, not without her smile :
"With this crown, my children, I will be all but vile."

And they believed her, but truthfully she was ferocious ;
Playing with the riches' heart like a viola's strings,
For it was the end of vipers and the era of Kings.