The light of dawn warmed my tanned, scarred back,
as the rest of my body reeked of the everlasting scent of lilac.

A dark mane of luscious curls cascades upon my broad shoulders,
ones capable of supporting the transport of impenetrable boulders.

My stride hitches the soul and breath of another,
for my fiery spirit resembles the queen's late mother.

Eyes glazing over Her Majesty, I found her by the window, nonchalantly sitting.

I must admit, the title may be unfitting, perhaps misleading.

She lives without worry or sorrow,
as if there will be no tomorrow.

Fingers clasped around the handle of a teacup,
bedchamber perfumed to reek of buttercups.

So to capture her attention, I slid my fingers across her jawline,
before I plunged my sword, rupturing her spine.

A mighty, untouchable queen, she is no longer.
For I have always been better, always stronger.

© Alexandrina Vicorii