At first she looked appalled,
then her features rearranged.
The face of my devoted
took an heir of the deranged.
As was seen in the reflection
of the armor's mirrored pane,
the queen stood before me:
The epitome of insane.

I looked toward the sky,
to see the stars were merely flame,
and the snow that fell was ash
inside the mountain without name.

"What is wrong, little prince?
Your features, they look worn!
...From a trek across the desert?
Is that why so forlorn?
So easily fatigued,
you wave at me that little thorn?
I hope you brought an army!
Go ahead, blow your horn,
or are you daft in your distress?
Do you solo face my scorn?"
The sword in my hand
shook in quakes, anger-born.
"You see the creatures there?
They will die before the morn,
but do you care for your own men?
Do you not even mourn?
Do you uphold your bargain?
Slay the beast as forsworn?"
As she spoke, her features shifted.
The seer was in her form!

"That is right, little prince:
I am the fire, AND the storm."