THE CRIMSON QUEEN

She rose upon a throne of borrowed gold, With honeyed lips that spoke of blood and lies, She sold her people — nameless, chained and cold — To those who paid to have them merchandise. The ravens fed on what she left behind, The plague crept in on every crooked deal — A queen unraveled, rotting from the mind, Too drunk on power's poison now to heal. Bow down, witch of the hollow throne, Your kingdom drowns in ash and chain! The people rise — their fury stone, And iron is your true domain! The plague-witch cackles in her vaulted hall, Her mirror cracks — the face it shows is true: A husk of hunger, waiting for the fall, A tyrant's mask of flesh that rotted through. Let the scaffold speak what silence cannot say — One stroke of steel to close this darkened age. Her severed crown laid in the dust to stay, A warning carved forever in the page. She kneels before the blade alone, Her shadow-court shall share her shame! The chains she forged become her own — Her name erased — the people reign! ...and the scaffold stood for a hundred years, so none who walked in darkness forgot the cost...