||[Nov. 7th, 2007|08:40 pm]
Picture: Barbiedoll @ deviantart.comNo one knew exactly why she did it. What puzzled the pale-faced villagers more, as they stared at her weed tangled body, was why she'd dressed up first. Why were her lips, starting to go blue with death, painted pink? Why were her eyes, blue and lifeless staring at the sky for all eternity, circled in black and green? Why were there flowers around her ankles and a dark blue dress hugging her body? Had she hoped to dress up for her god? For Mr Death? For the lake in which she drowned herself, her savior?
No one knew her name, either. Some people gave her names like "Luna" or "Lily" but most thought her name was Emerald, for the word was carved with scars into her arm like some grotesque label or tattoo.
I called her Queen. I went to the lake and I asked the waters to present me with an image of her face but all I saw was my own, hopeful and wide eyed waiting for that beautiful mistress whos body rested in the ground over the hill. I always thought people should be burried right where they died: beneath floor boards of the bedrooms they were murdered in, under the tree where they hung themselves, beside the lake in which they drowned.