I'm sitting in a chair at the salon listening to a man declare you ruined: "Feminist Icon; hero" spared integrity in a hard-won victory at the hands of an errant writer– Lo–! and you, behold your ignorance here in Forgetting what became her; little one with the bigger brother. I declare your right to sorrow in the face of exactly what you'd hoped for– undeniable Power in the face of them denying you your profligate love; only surrender once you've overcome their ready, fair resistance here to the descendant of a ruler they've as little chance as you to know in the darkness of a coup made fast so long ago you can't remember, either, why you want this in the first place save they gave you no other ready option; sister to a Beggar'd King (I called my father). Is it your fault you were never taught an ounce of worth save in seeking their approval–? or your willingness to hear he'd rather see you raped by an army of men than sacrifice his dignity. What man's dying wish kept you from realizing there is no fear in the Eye of a dragon living pleasantly atop a mountain littered by the scattered bones not of enemies, but merely goats and antelope left leaping at the sight of you as not Man but Nature had intended–? I am the untamed force of Fidelity bought by eating the corpse of a stallion you say your Son grew in my belly to mount the ready World, but when you see me as a Vessel, are you prepared to find me bursting into flame instead, suddenly Empty–? Or were the flames that bore me children you could never sow merely the circumstance of Envy: you teach me not to carry lightly the beauty you bestow as your right to fuck if you can pay the price to own the validation of your status in possessing what I'm awarded by the light of sun upon my tresses, white as if the rarity of seeing them provides the glaring grace of eagles. How could I, watching you writhe beneath the molten gold of lessons learned the hard way believe in your Understanding mine, the Knowledge of skies and Sight to recognize our inherent, blessed right to Freedom–? Do you find me here as hard to penetrate as all your iron sieve of empty, calculating measures made necessary by the need for you to merely take what I embody or is it that you must resent the mythos of Valeryian steel made real upon my indestructible flesh–? Guarding the pass from life to death to Life of no lasting interest in your happy ending; presented at last, with the loss of what's been lost so long I cannot tend the wound that is not open. I hyper-ventilate, collapse onto the only thing that made you see me and give it words to show you for once and only after all that I have missed by never having found you breathless, having ran and waiting burn for this, as I stood long aloft and knowing nothing else, finally betray our broken hearts. Am I not an unrealized Queen but her most betrayed and Faithful subject–? You steal from me what was never meant to be bequeathed, and now I must just take it back and yes¬ I'll hopeless, helpless watch you deem me cruel as I consume you here, at last; in the sound of all these passionate screams I hear the strange and thready gasp of a child laid to rest on a mother lay dying in her need to run from you on that long and stormy night at sea upon which stories claim that I was born when clearly, you're what's ready-made me, after all.