Her Tainted Crown

Do they see the scorn in her smile masked by the need to exempt those who tore her soul from its hinges? Or are they her foes who mock her strength after benefiting from her weakness?

Her compassion is a corpse rotting alongside chivalry in a grave dug by the ones who deemed themselves to be allies to a supposed benevolent being.

Does their consciousness rest easy knowing they have broken the very epitome of her nature, leaving her to be a shell of who they once loved?

She is plagued by nostalgia and resentment of a past that fed her grains of happiness from hands that would become her emotional executioners.

Did they suddenly forget the appreciation they claimed to have for her essence that poured from its shallow waters into their dry wells?

For they have grown tired of dealing with the septic wounds on her heart caused by the blade of betrayal they used, causing them to flee.

THE BITTER POET