Khaleesi

Encompassed by this place of peace, she waits. Strong as the stallions they mount

are those who've come to resolve her fate. Curious men stare at her. Some jeer.

Some lust after the pale flesh hidden between her rags. Like the night owl watching

its prey, silent and still she stays.

Scared? Appalled? It's hard to say, for her face is like stone--cold, motionless--eyes chained to his.

Finally, she speaks. "Don't you want to know what I think?"

Angry gazes slice her words; laughter belittles her. She has no voice here--it is known. Obstinate by nature, she rounds a stone bed resting in the heart of the Great--and speaks of her first steps in the Great Temple, and of the iron chair promised by her beloved Sun-and-Stars, whose soul has left the Earth like the babe of her womb. Hands rest upon dancing braziers--a gentle push thrusts hot oil across the dirt; like waves upon the sand. No longer is her fate uncertain, for the temple's held prisoner by the blazing inferno.

Onlookers gaze upon this makeshift pyre and bow to her, their prodigious Queen, as she crosses the temple threshold.

Unclaimed.

Unclothed.

Unburnt.