The Iron Queen

He kisses without reserve, before sending the through the arch. She won’t wait forever after all, and the wind is cold.

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I find her taming the beast.

“Do you kill it?”

“Not at all.” There’s an implication in her voice that it is immortal. The  beast of woe and sorrow that we can tame but never truly destroy in our life times. I comment that her dress isn’t entirely suited to this task and she laughs at me, standing in the snow in torn jeans and a singlet. She threads her arm through mine and leads me away from the tamed beast now tied to a stake.

The snow clears, the marble floors start, and we are in her throne room. The throne looks uncomfortable, but she sits anyway and invites me to do the same. Apparently sitting on the floor is just odd in her books, but I am not fit for the throne at her side by my own measure, so at her feet is my chosen place.

She talks.

She talks of a husband that focusses so much on the future that he ignores the present, and her, so for intents she is the widowed Queen. Here she looks to her people. Using hard won knowledge and experience to rule and resolve. Decisions always from a clear, cold place, regardless of any personal sympathies.

She talks of existing in the now, but not forgetting the past. Of watching over and guiding with clear vision the day to day. She explains, in a way, how it is we get lost and her role in bringing us back.

She smiles readily, and I feel no need to try and remove her mask as I did her husband’s. I know that underneath it is scars from old hurts, and she does not seek to hide the grief and pain she still feels. But she rules, there is iron in her spine, and she sees to the people regardless of her personal pains. She neither denies nor wallows in them.

Pushed wrongly she can be hard and cruel. She’ll use everything she nows of you against you. She’s not shy in admitting it. Not shy at all. Her mind is her greatest weapon and she’ll use it come hell or high water.

She reminds me, as our time comes to a close, that I too am Queen. She tells me that she hasn’t a lesson to teach me, I am already applying her lesson without guidance, but I must remember that I too am strong.

The Brittle King

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The blade feels awkward in my hands as I throw myself at my lover. He smiles slightly as he pushes me back and over, again. I’m frustrated and he’s gently amused by it. It takes time, I know. Mastery always takes time. In the meantime, I’m the cutest frustrated little fox-kit ever according to this overgrown bastard.

The wind comes through the archway, ice cold, and that’s the cue to take my leave.

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