by Nick Gisburne
The kingdom, and its king, must fall tonight
She spins the subtle secrets of the scheme
Betrayal, born of bitterness and spite
She blends her magic, deep inside a dream
A whisper for an audience, alone
His finger bids the servants disappear
She sighs and sits astride him on the throne
The nature of her appetite seems clear
But finding scarlet flowers in his hand
Each perfect rose a dark, delicious bloom
He looks, and sees, but does not understand
Until she summons evil to the room
The flowers twist their tendrils through the heart
The flesh, the king, the kingdom, torn apart
