Queen's White Woes
She sits upon her seat, a figure pale. The diadem presses down, a heavy weight of obligation. Her glance are filled with a piercing melancholy, a mirroring of the discord that surrounds her. The fate have dealt a cruel hand, and she is left to accept the price. She sings her lament, a melody of yearning, a whisper carried on the air. The White Quee