Tonight she lies, reclined on the black silken sheets, her hair blending seemlessly into the dark background, and her pale skin, ever flawless, seems to glow in the candlelight.
Staring, eyes focused on some point far beyond the smooth stone ceiling above, beyond even the star-studded sky far above - I do not know what she sees. She does not tell us.
Always so restless, at night - during the day, she busies herself with the tedious details of statecraft, but at night, she wanders the darkened hallways, like a ghost, or lies here, as this night.
And we walk at her side. Sit by her bed - always present. Some nights, she turns on us - tells us to leave. Not to look at her, not to be absorbed into her madness - but we will not leave.
Other nights, she embraces us, perhaps with the warmth of flesh seeking to banish whatever cold thoughts haunt her. Every night, we are with her. More than any others, perhaps, we see her as she truly is.
All that she is, all that she has been - I, we, have completely accepted and embraced. There is darkness, to be sure. She has done things beyond our imagining - mistakes, and intentional atrocities.
There is sorrow - such deep, profound sorrow as to destroy any lesser person. When walking in her shadow, one feels time itself being swept aside as she strides forward.
She bears the pride of a queen, greater than any other, honed through the ages - and her skin, smooth and cool, brings to mind a marble statue.
But, despite her ageless countenance, despite the aeons piled upon her shoulder, ther remains, somewhere deep within, her true self. It is not the evil witch-queen some see - nor is it the voice of ageless experience. She is, I believe, in her heart of hearts, a sweet, innocent girl, cursed by the cruelest fate of all. The reason why I remain at her side, why we all remain at her side, is simple - we love her, and all that she is. And at her side we stay, until death grant us at last the blessing it continues to deny her. But others will take our place. Until the final day comes, she will never again have to suffer alone.
Now, I will go to her bed, and I will hold her close. I will stroke her hair, and I will whisper to her of beauty, and of the good things still left in this world. She will utter harsh words, admonish me for speaking to her in such a manner, for interrupting her contemplation - but she will not stop me. I will persist, until she falls asleep, holding in my heart a fervent wish that by doing so I can somehow ease the pain of that lonely girl we call our Queen.
