THE QUEEN IS DEAD (part 1) by Queen Kitteh

I look upon the somber procession, my breath pools and lingers about my lips. My eyes scan the crowd, some sobbing, others staring with fallen eyes. I draw a deep breath, the air pierces my lungs, a thousand sharp knives. The sting of the wind draws tears from the corners of my eyes, they icily leak down my cheeks. There is a certain devastation, a sorrow, that is encamped about this winter procession. The medieval line of royalty, nobles, knights, all men of position and rank step to the melodies of sadness sounding in their hearts. My eyes frisk them and search them, embarrassed to look upon them I blush, my gaze falls. Carefully they wander up again, my cheeks burning in the cold breath of winter. Only to find the clearest pair of blues judging my soul. Involuntarily my eyes search the bearded face. My cold hands are drawn to my body. The season, the death, all things melancholy are dancing about the atmosphere around us. The eyes, the face, they are carried away in the procession. But my heart is fluttering. I no longer notice anything in detail, only bits and pieces of color and painful sounds. I am haunted. The clear blue eyes are still looking at me, even though their owner has all but walked away. Who am I to look upon such as these? Who am I to allow my heart to flutter at the un attainable? I am startled from this trance at the sound of the ending procession. And a last "God save the Queen." Followed by the speech of the clergyman Over the royal grave. Reality is materializing, now tears of sincerity fill my eyes, too. I am pouring out my soul for a great woman, a woman whose presence never graced mine. With emotions greater than I know, and tears pouring down my face, I swallow to whisper, too frightened to hear the words..."The Queen is dead." A gasp having said it, hurried glances around me feeling others glances radiate into me. Startled and then fear having realized the blue eyes that haunt me are those of a king.