The young Queen smiled as she raised her youthful silver eyes,
Cursing her conquering foe.
She now breathed her dying breath
And mourned the ill fate of her countrymen.
A quiet teardrop fell from her sacred white skin, as she finally discovered solace in death,
Carrying a white, blood-stained sword in her right hand.
The black legions continued their march.
The sacred Queen, pure as snow, sat peacefully.