The Skull Queen’s Vigil



In the silent heart of the castle, where moonlight never quite reaches the floor, she sits upon her throne of the forgotten. 

They call her the Skull Queen. None who have looked into those glacial eyes through the empty sockets of her mask have ever returned to speak of it. Candles burn low around her, their flames shivering as if afraid to go out. Skulls of kings, lovers, and fools keep her company, each one a silent witness to the long night she has chosen.

She does not move. She does not need to. In the dark, the dead already kneel.