a sliver of light
fractured and feeble
gleaming like a beacon
between the door and its frame.

the only truth was a name
without a face, but with a death toll;
she walked in shadows and
was reigning queen of no-man's-land.

tapestries on the wall
the gold and scarlet sacraments
a vicar and a witch charged with sacrilege
and yet never greeting penitence.

in light and with light
the dowager queen stands upright;
the barley fields whisper her name.
the truth is a facade.