Lo_Daea
In the gilded halls where whispers dwell,
Where pearls hide blades and saints wear spell,
There bloomed a rose of silver thread-
Paulette, pale flame, with thorns well-bred.
Her grace was steel in satin bound,
Her voice a harp, her wrath profound.
No man could touch, nor prince could claim,
This daughter born of crown and flame.
But lo-what storm did Fate unchain,
When through Versailles there rode a bane:
Frederick, devil wrapped in gold,
Whose tongue was sharp, whose touch was bold.
He came with lust and laughter laced,
With whores in lace and sins embraced;
A serpent clothed in charm's attire,
Whose kiss could set the moon on fire.
Their first exchange-a sword unsheathed,
A garden bruised, a prince blood-teethed.
She struck with pride, he bled with glee,
And thus began their enmity.
Like Venus warred with Mars above,
They clashed in scorn, they danced in love.
Each word a duel, each glance a flame,
Yet neither dared to speak love's name.
He watched her walk in riding guise,
With wicked hands and hungered eyes.
She bore his gaze like queens wear crowns,
And cursed his name in whispered frowns.
She, cold and cruel in courtly grace,
He, drenched in sin but fair of face-
Yet 'neath the silks and spiteful cries,
The fire burned in veiled disguise.
A masque was held, their fates entwined,
Their tempers fierce, their hearts maligned.
But when the music met their skin,
The war gave way to want within.
They waged their love in whispered threats,
In stolen looks and midnight bets.
Their kisses fought, their touches lied,
Yet neither could the flame deny.
For pride is soft when lust draws near,
And hate is sweet when dressed as fear.
They broke, they burned, they bled, they swore-
Then begged for ruin evermore.
Thus sang Versailles, in sighs and moans,
Of Paulette's wrath and Frederick's groans.
A tale of silk, of scars, of sin-
Where losing meant the soul let in.