They always judged her. For the way she looked, the way she walked or the way she talked.

She knew it all. The whispers behind her back but she tried to act strong and happy anyway.

They called her names. She just sat and then said nothing. She wished for some company but then all she knew was that people pretended. The world really seemed like a theater at this point. People could ACT so well. They pretended to care, to be friends, and then be the complete opposite behind her back.

One day, she decided it was too much. How long would she keep being miserable? How much would she keep feeling sick?

She decided to pick up a paintbrush and DO something. Her eyes saw the canvas. She splashed the dark colors in it. With her own hands, she made patterns. A hand begging for life here. A soul asking to be released there.


The moon looked beautiful that night. The stars shone bright. In the midst of the mysterious night, she stood there in a white gown;a dark beauty. Tonight her hair was down to her waist and her eyes saw hope.

The lake rippled as if it felt the energy surrounding it. The night was cold. Chills ran down her spine. But she was a woman of the night. She was a Queen waiting to be reclaimed on the throne of Paradise.

The ship came that day; on time. One appeared with the sails fluttering quietly. The ships glided over the dark waters as cautiously like a snake sneaking on its prey.

“I have been waiting,” she said. The ship remained silent.It stayed powerful and strong, yet bowed to Her Highness.

With one last look to her canvas, she touched the sails of the boat and mounted it.

It carried her away.

The next morning, the people saw her masterpiece.

A Queen sailing on a ship called Death.

She was never seen again.



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