Regal Requiem

In twilight's hush, where shadows dance and play, a figure emerges, veiled in mystery and gray. The crown upon her head, a twisted, thorny wreath, speaks of a beauty born from darkness and of death. Yet, in her eyes, a light, a spark, a flame that flickers bright, a beacon in the night. She stands, a vision, eerie, pale, and fair, a monarch of the night, with sorrow's weight to bear. Her raiment, tattered, worn, and old, a testament to trials, to stories untold. And in her presence, we find a strange, a morbid peace, a sense of calm, a stillness that the world's wild din cannot release. She is the keeper of the night, the guardian of the dark, a sovereign of the shadows, with a heart that's left its mark.