She required the most beautiful jewel for her crown.

She would not marry the Highest King unless it was set in pure gold upon her dark hair.

It spoke to her, had whispered across distances to her.

“I am yours, only you are worthy”

And with her beauty, and her wiles, she made the Highest King fetch it for her. Killing thousands on his jihad of love.

When he found it, word was sent and wedding arrangements made.

The golden crown was hot and ready for the stone to be set, just so.

When the king arrived, he ordered that she be held down while the crown was applied. Her skin melted and hair burned while she screamed. Eyes rolling back in otherworldly pain. Muscles twisting like a worm impaled on a hook.

“It was never for you” he laughed.

He revealed the stone against his chest, next to his heart. The brightness seemed to spread across his skin, like a wound left to fester on one abandoned for dead.