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THERE ONCE WAS a girl with a heart blacker than coal. She was an enigma- truly, a thing to behold. She carried herself like a queen, and hid and lied like a criminal.
And, in a way, she was. Both, I mean.
She was worshipped by one and estranged by all. Her single facet of power was from one boy. His name, trivial. His story- tremendous. The boy, in his puerile innocence, in his desperate, enervating search for the one thing he craved the most-acceptance- had fallen into the clutches of whispered promises of love.
That foolish, stupid boy is like a lamb. He doesn't know any better don't you understand that?
He can't help himself- he's been alone for so long, and waited for someone to love, to notice for so long.
You understand that, surely? Because let's face it, Queen- your reign, your kingdom only extends so far- you and I both know the second you step through that arched doorway you're no one.
You're nothing to them.
You can't control them. And so, the Queen Bee becomes the Poor Pauper. Amusing, is it not? Amusing it is?
But you still aren't like him- because you know that if you died, people would notice- but only because they're vultures, their gnarled claws twitching with impatience- to swoop up your crown.
What good is a queen without her crown?
You don't deserve that. You don't deserve to be remembered- you deserve to be forgotten. Forgotten, you do.
Forgotten.
And he- one of the innocent- will wither and die. You will burn away everything he is- everything of substance- and set yourself to the task of making him your Adonis of puppets- what a fine puppet he'll be.
You'll take away everything he is- by whispering pretty poison into his ear and by giving him a rainbow on his cheek.
