The conglomerative saw her as a locust. Some saw her as a queen. But what did she see when she looked in the mirror? What thoughts had burdened her? The finely woven red silk had pervaded to cover the room she called prison, and her body. She no longer needed make up, they were a tired purple consistently. She had tried to keep her intensity hot over the fading years, but she had lost her edge. No one would court her now, she felt dry and un usable. She no longer filled herself with lust to pass the days; she instead was filled with the plague of aged personality. Her limbs were now stretched over physical planes and reached for something more, she had missed her times and she evidentially reached for them. Now every day, the citizens witness her stumbling with a blade. She had become intoxicated every night. She vowed if someone were to push her, she would sink the blade into herself beyond the point of fixing. No one said a word, and she never did. After her bout with the blade that night she had drunken dreams of her past. Her husband and children appeared before her now, either dead or gone in the present. Her dreams seemed as splattered ink across fine paper. Hazing in and out of conscious she though what had befallen her. Why must she face the wrath of her own memories even as she was drunk? But then she asked herself, am i not the queen of these people. My riches have given me comfort in my loneliness over these years. But my people hate me she added. Her riches may have brought her comfort in the form of material but she had lacked the affection she direly needed. Thinking of her people and her own tragedy she picked up the blade again. Looking at her own reflection in the blade was what she had needed to push her. She had gone up her arm, causing a river of blood to flow out of her opening in millions if streams and rivers diverging from a lake. Was the blood clear? she had continued to reach for more of her body’s extensions. The citizens looked upon her open window now. She had fallen, and her forgotten friend she had demeaned in the love of her husband. Rushing up the stairs into that famed red silk room, the friend saw the room become even redder. The cloud of her veins filled her eyes; the flowing river rode around her feet. The friend pulled the dying woman to her breast. “What has caused this my forgotten friend?” the intensity brought heat to the otherwise cold room. “I am truly forgotten, no?” “No you are not” the friend said “not to me”. The blade had damaged her vocal cords and any call upon her was answered with only a hissing noise. The friend had faced the blood unlike before now. It gushed out of the woman’s pours and the coldness returned. Her friend filled the room with tears now. Through her weeping the other citizens started to weep. The fires of their past lighted again too. They remembered the woman in her prime. Her loving husband, how he looked at her children. The weeping intensified and the dying woman remembered her life clearly, the wine had faded. She regretted her decision now. Her last thoughts were of her husband, warming her in her state. The friend of the woman had brought her to the town’s altar. The citizens gathered and the body was burned. As the woman missed her husband so, the ashes were poured upon his grave. Eternally with him and eternally intoxicated she could appreciate what time had given her. Through her unbearable despair she was able to find endless solace. Counting the days ever after the hated, but beloved queen destroyed herself in her intensity, the citizens recalled the love that should be felt for anyone in any state. They appreciated the nature of the world and the causation and power of a woman. The grass was fertilized where she lay and for generations the town’s people considered it a miracle. In modern times she is considered a myth, but often children come to see the great tall grass and shaken stone of the area. Every lover believed the story, it marked the beauty and integrity of a woman, and the mistakes one can make in lust and passion. Could it have been a myth?