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,

criss-crossing paths.

 

The Red veins of maple leaves pulsing,

Painting

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.

 

Dripping in 

Red

Red 

Red.

 

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 

Art

beneath her.

 

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?