Queen of Vermillion

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The Queen of Vermillion ushered a bitter sigh,

bearing witness to her pallid disguise.

A marble visage drained of summer's hue,

winter's rose bid beauty adieu.

Misery consumed her every glance,

for she lacked the fair skin flayed upon a young maiden's back.

The ticking of clocks haunted her thoughts,

beauty sullied as time would furiously trot.

Every second she grew more ugly,

a tarnished flower doomed to sully.

How cruel destiny could be,

to curse her with the body of a mortal breed.

Forced to watch as life faded from her throne,

withered and tarnished as a disease-ridden crone.

Amid a horrible dream fueled by jealous spite,

the cracking of whips filled her with respite.

The shedding of virgin blood splashed against her skin,

coating her body in a layer of crimson.

It was in that very moment she felt it in her heart,

the yearning for the ceaseless dark arts.

Vials of velvet to bring flesh immortal,

pumping a chorus through veined aortal.

At long last she had found the elixir of life,

the ancient liquid to end her pursuing strife.

It leaks and slithers across her skin,

like the crawling of vermin the sensation was akin.

Sucking the curse of mortality from her veins,

hideous doubts have all been drained.

The pallid visage that has haunted her since she were a mere child,

soothed in a raging ocean of ruby reviled.

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