the king is her own lionheart, she is her own god and she is her own idol. she is a golden emperor worshipped by thousands, she is a carved image limned in gold, a false messiah of a false kingdom. but still she needs her right hand, she needs her wrath, she needs the most faithful man of them all to spill blood at her altar, to battle down the strong. to cut her enemies off at the knees, if that is the only way they will kneel.
the king of kings, and her deadly, victorious sword.