In a palace adorned by marble and glass, awaits a woman clad in red.
Is it blood or is it satin?
Her painted skin is as of a porcelain doll’s.
Who is she?
She is unsteady and anxious.
To what does she await for, that has even fear, consume her?
Is she not as strong as she appears?

Suddenly, a man bursts through a pair heavy gold doors.
He is Stern and grim. He is armored and remorseful.
The man staggers to meet the woman’s throne.
He is jagged and worn. He is sturdy and distant
The man collapses before the woman.
He wails and stutters. He begs for consolation.

She looks into the man’s eyes searching for answers.
What is she looking for? Or is she looking for someone?
His eyes overflow with tears and sorrow.
She demands what had happened.
He brings his lips to her ear.
He gasps and whispers.

The woman falls back, mouth agape.
The man rushes to her side. He holds her, never wanting to let go.
What is it that she waited for, that had fear itself consume her?

In another room disguised by walls, lies a newborn with a faded pulse.