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When Raphael crashes through the trees behind me like a shadow born of the wild and war, when he lifts me off my feet and pins me to the mossy earth with his weight, his teeth grazing my throat, I don’t scream.
I whisper, “Eat your heart out, my King.”
And he does.
The forest swallows the sound.
The monsters wear my name like a prayer.
I wear their chains like a crown.
The Queen of the Damned does not run.
She reigns.
THE END
