There was a place,
T'is now unseen.
A land of beauty, music, green.
Within this land there lived a race;
Peopled with splendor was this place.
Creatures aplenty and, many, unique.
Disparity flourished among the locale,
But still, one did lingre,
She was quite peculiar;
In a word, pariah.

Wings of gilt crimson,
Eyes of azure,
Garbed in deep sable,
Skin, quite pastel.
Her manner was somber,
Her features, suchlike.
The Denizens largely
Avoided her hovel
With whispers of
Scurrilous rumors and lies.

This maiden of difference
Was truly of naught.
All she had wanted
Was simply forgot.
Outcast and lonely,
She turned towards the night.
Of this event
I speak of with fright.

She called forth the demons,
Aglow with their hate.
Such terrible power
Will not satiate.

And so she rose, the Darkest Queen;
Bourne of Madness, pale and lean.
She hath no mercy, only flame,
which can be stopped by naught, else name.
She holds her sceptre with guarded shame,
and, since her crowning, knows only pain.
The Darkest Queen, our only fate,
Rose from Man, torn; Insane.