She with her fiery red curls, tears staining her porcelain, ivory face and a hardened resolve, sat on the Ice Throne. With a gentle wave of hand, the loyal guards in her palace blew into long horns. Thunderous echo howled through the never-ending corridors. She had ordered the gates of her kingdom to be closed forever. Shut off from the outside world, allowing on one to ever enter. The sun had set forever in her world. The world which she had ruled for so long that she no longer recalled when it all began. Once the sun was gone, it was eternal night, eternal cold, eternal snow.
They had broken her heart and broken her. They had deceived her and led her out into the sun, into the light, into a made-believe joy and a mirage called solidarity. They, with their hypocritical friendships and fake concerns, were like a thousand knives that had stabbed her in the back. The anguish was immense. From flesh and blood, she slowly morphed into a creature beyond recognition. With life and energy sapped from her, her once-glorious locks became blue, then white, then red, and her complexion developed a darkened aura. Her eyes once bright with hope, now smouldered with rage and drowned in sorrow and regret. That once-beating heart became glass, then stone.
As the last tear slid down her face, she whispered, “This world is a lie. It steals from us the joy and hope, leaving us to look in despair, with a languor and nonchalance that one could never recover from.”