White Queen's Blues
She sits upon her throne, a figure pale. The diadem presses down, a heavy weight of power. Her glance are filled with a piercing sadness, a mirroring of the discord that surrounds her. The fate have dealt a unforgiving hand, and she is left to endure the cost. She sings her blues, a melody of regret, a whisper carried on the breeze. The Her Majesty