King of the Jungle

She came walking through the starlight one evening. She came with no armies, no rival lions. She came alone. And alone was what she was. The pride took her in, offering her kindness and love. She took these things with no smile, with no voice. She was quiet in all her way. Late some nights when the pride was well asleep and dreaming, she would wander beneath the moon. She sparkles beneath the moonlight but her tears were what shined the most. In this one thing- in her sorrow- she was not quiet. She lamented and wept with passion, singing her sorrow into the sky. She cried for she had come too late... too late to save the lion she loved.

“Oh Ben... my sweet Benedictus.” She whispered. Her tears fell like rain into the dry African dirt. “My love, I’ve come too late. You are already gone.”
She pressed her paw to her belly, a distant look upon her face. “Ben do you remember our daughter ? A shining baby girl she was. She’s gone too now Ben. I’ve lost you and her and now I’m all alone..”

She visited his grave during many a moonless night when the eyes of the dead watched unhindered in the black sky above. She brought him bluebells and spoke only to his grave, remebering days long since colored by age. She remembered him before he was king and before tragedy had torn them apart. Before they had lost their daughter to Men. .

She saw his predecessor wearing his title and struggled to not feel the same terrible feelings she had for Benedictus. That love would only destroy this old lion before her.

When he too passed on, the pride had no one to turn to. They turned to the lion with no voice. They turned to Her. She bore the mantel of Queen with a sorrow that could make the sea weep.

She was Lacrimosa- the Queen.