Katharine

The night was dark, eerily so, as though no light could bear to penetrate a black cloud. The stars were visible, yet refused to bask their light on the Earth at this hour. It is said they had an unheard agreement whispered between the sun and moon for neither spread the light and beauty it once had, it all died the night the Queen did; the night dance did.
When dance died, so did the joy. The clouds grew dark, cold, forbidding and cried often. The sun went in mourning; bring Frost to the town earlier, and more permanently than before. The wind murmured sadness during the nights, and what birds that sang still, harmonised dysphasia and depression. The song brought even the lightest of heart to their knees in anguish.
The Queen died during dance, and so dance died with her. The Royal family mourned heavily, her three daughters in distress of never dancing for their mother again, whilst rumours flew around that the Prince roamed the dark forest every night, looking for the light his father cast off. The servants in the castle worked sullenly, like a constant voice demotivated them. The townsfolk carried along the drear and many young maidens cried to sleep, as though all life were dead.