Chapter 1

Queen of the archaic aisle her debris of commands and dictation honored by the dark queen of war why wouldn't she flinch with slamming ghouls against the barricades

She was not brought up rightfully

The Thorne wasn't even hers to start supposedly it pertained to her late husband who invariably hurt her while she was conflicting her fist into the empty room of the ocean as the sun of feathers watches over her

Freedom of finally breathing was within her will

And now as she flees beneath the walls of the torture of antiques but if the glasses decoded to cling together just because her base was made of her blood that assassinates her associate in the war of translucency when they tried poisoning her flesh with the controversy of anger when she finally left her marriage of ages

No one were understanding in believed what made her move in such an accent

Breathing you shall but never suffocated between each saliva

Promises occurred not meant to be kept but known to be crushed

She was down yet ferocious

She was finding hope in how to stand

But her reaction was boldly cold

Society assumed she was shaky leaving her husband of ages because they didn't know the variety of her gallon bloodshot eyes

Despite the thousand embodiments, she made in her past life but she believed in the hope of a perfect life

Said as her words chime within the dams of the castle that the strongest drive inside of a submissive, underneath all their emotional scars, is for the Master to push aside any curtains or fences they may have erected to separate them from their true self, the naked, vulnerable soul. Because that soul wants only one thing. Do you want to know what that is?"

I don't want to know. That's not what the training's about."

"Wrong. That's what submissive training is all about. Preparing past those shields so she feels truly bound to her Master, a portion of him as he's a part of her. The extreme connection, where the thought isn't necessary. They're together most essentially and perfectly there is

While in the art gallery as people sobbed in her sad story of how she died tragically signal were given as the thunder of ghost rash through the sky of beautiful Paris

Agape as people fathom ashes stray

Crook her head of delicacy sipping the bottle of rosé wine with the lush beautiful lips

The message was across all vigilance mysterious yet skeptical assurance of polarized

She was indeed Queen Tamara named for her late deeds as a dark queen

Clash in roses yet she falls

Snow of portraits yet she bargains her soul with

Slow but steady everyone is meant to be lost in the hallucinations of dreams wondering who is Queen Tamara

mystery inside the flower bud."

I can still relish the different nuances of the stronger flavors." He studied the orchid in the center of the table. "With the very delicate, you sculpt something down to such a whisper of form, there's nothing else it can be. It's in resilience that you find marvels and fluctuation.