(3 Word poem)
Red. Ruby red or bloody burgundy covered her stretched pouting lips.
Blood red or rose red displayed for her pleasure.
Creeping down the walls and spilling over the edge of the small wooden tables.
Sickly red.
Her eyes, black as charcoal, save for the tiny glint of small sparkling constellations in her eyes thrown together by her mind and body.
Each soul she bore wearing upon her own. Weighing her down to the molten core of the earth.
Her laugh rang through the hall as she peered into the red glass, glinting with more souls.
Her life force seeming evanescent.
The dripping of the red walls, was it the red from her own veins, or some other poor soul?
The constellations lodged in her pupils, was it the spark of pure evil was it the rebellion of innocent souls behind her eyes.
Such power.
Wonderful magnificent power.
Immune for so long.
What a sight to see.
One final ending for an evil red queen.
Down with the bloody big head.
