Damned to hell fire and a belly filled with gnawing stench, the Queen lays dying;
Just punishment for those she burned, no recantations to save her pathetic soul;
All once so close to me imprisoned, exiled, erased or dead now, I carry onward;
Alone, but for all the voices ringing – heads rolling, sweat pouring, burning moans.
I ride my mare hard to shake the noises, heading to where all is safe and warm;
On familiar roads now, my heart fills with hope, my soul with homesick yearning;
Just down this path and around the bend it lays waiting — home, yes, my home;
Though empty I can be refilled, the voices loving, and with the Gods’ help, reborn.
I pull the reigns hard, as I look upon empty darkness. What was there, now is gone.
Stunned, my soul freezes, my heart stops. I displeased the Goddess. My Gods, how?
I listen for voices — anyone, anything. “Thea… mother, are you here?” My Gods, no.
Fear fills my every being as I realize I am all alone now, deserted until death calls.
Fade. To. Black.
– Anthea –