Jewels were covering her pale skin

While she sat upon her throne

All of the precious stones running along her body

Were making her feel nauseous.

Her crown was feeling heavy, so heavy.

Its sharp angles were cutting through her hair,

Cutting through her forehead,

And hurting her thoughts.

But all of this

Proved she was the Queen,

The blood that would soon or later spread

Out of her wounded brow

Proved she was the Crowned One.

Yes.

She was the Turquoise-Woman,

And she was a marionette,

A puppet in her shiny prison.

Though, when she was coming back to her room,

In the gloom of the evening,

The Ghost was there,

And his hands helped her to remove the heavy crown

And put it down.

He helped her to remove all of her jewels too,

Remove them from her neck, wrists and ankles,

Freeing her,

So that she could breathe,

And feel the air on her skin,

And feel someone was touching her,

So that she could stop being a queen,

Stop being the Turquoise-Woman,

And be only Dana,

The one who wanted to live her own life.

All around the palace, great and dark menacing clouds began to come into being.