A full moon peeked through the fleecy clouds, staining the midnight blue sky with a dull, yellow glow – the shade of custard pie – and softly illuminated the diamond stars. Sapphire flames prickled the sinister darkness, rising gracefully from the brass banisters, and revealed a funeral cortège of cloaked figures trudging through the milky-white snow.
Faces hidden behind white masks, with their long, hollow beaks swooped into a mournful tilt they pierced the cold night with a woeful lullaby, and gingerly carried a glass coffin. Snowflakes fluttered delicately in the wind, like butterflies, and disappeared into the crown of scarlet roses atop of her head.
Raven-haired, with smooth, alabaster complexion and soft, brown eyes, the Queen of Astoría, gathered the infinite layers of the tulle dress beneath her velvet robe and continued to accompany the mysterious creatures on their way to the desolate graveyard.
The moonlight unveiled giant, ice chess pieces that towered over the barren grounds and guarded the block of marble that stood atop of a snowy hill. The coffin had been set down on a white blanket of virgin snow. A lifeless body lay inside, on a bed of red velvet.
The late King of Astoría was swathed in a sea of black and atop of his golden hair rested a crown of thorns and black roses. His eyes – a hypnotizing shade of turbulent sea – were once aglow with fire, spirit and fearlessness, but now they were closed shut.
One of the creatures pointed its skeletal finger at the young woman and hissed, “Speak your last words of farewell, Your Majesty.”
She knelt beside the coffin, tears spilling down her pallid cheeks, and whispered, “Goodbye, my love. When the Heavens above decide to reunite us I will be at your side, but until that day comes I bid thee to wait for me.”