Ashes

She stood silently, watching her castle roared into a blaze.
Not by war, nor betrayal. She had brought the fire herself.
The flames danced before her, mesmerizing so,
despite the ruin in their wake.

No more banquets shall be held in this hall.
All wine evaporated into the air.

Why would a Queen burn her own throne, one may ask.
She stared, teary eyed.
I was cold, she said.

Gone were the cherry pies and rosemary lamb,
for all she could taste was ash.
And her clothes were frayed, but who fucking cares,
when the cinders keep her bare feet warm.

And on, the fire crackles, filling the night with its echoes.
She raised her face and gazed at the ashes of her crown,
flying up, up, up in the air.
Then she whispered a question.

Is this all there is?

The fire hissed,
but it did not answer.