Empty Darkness

anthea sword owl


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 –

Beth von Staats

is the owner and administrator of QueenAnneBoleyn.com. Blogger of "The Tudor Thomases", Beth specializes in writing magazine articles, online historical articles, short stories, and flash fiction.

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