There once was a Queen ...

I can’t digest supper without a good tale. The new bard, arrived this night, lulls my court with a velvet voice.  

… whose envy of her stepdaughter strangled love like a bindweed.

My limbs grow numb. The Great Hall recedes.

But in her hurry to harm that which she should have held dear...

 My breath quickens, then stalls. My stomach is a river of flame.

… the Queen attracted darkness herself.

I recognise the signs too late. The pastry – so luscious on my plate, so tart but sweet! –  must have been confected from my own treasonous apple. 

The bard approaches. Blood-red lips move beneath her mask. Her snowy hand strokes my forehead.

May she rest in peace.