It is a sight that repulses the others.
Blood splattering against the pristine marble floor,
a Scarlet fan.
Bloody rivers racing,
surging towards the dias,
The Red veins of maple leaves pulsing,
the ground below.
A Red glow burning, scorching,
but never warming
the courtiers’ pale faces.
A pretty, Bloody Picture for the thieves around the room.
For the conspirators, usurpers, and traitors hidden among the fools.
Their smiles frozen behind the lush orchids they hold.
The head rolls soon after,
bathing in the Scarlet pool.
The walls weep.
Their Bloody tears splatter
the throne, the Queen, and her delicate white rose crown.
She sits tall, Red eyes gleaming as they behold the work of
The stench of iron fills the room,
suffocating her subjects,
wilting the carnations beside her.
A lovely sight.
A beautiful murder.
Who would challenge her now?
Who would cross this mad queen?