Lizzie: -thinking; how the hell did this… shit happen??
Lizzie: oh baby
Oli (overlapping): wha- i’m sorry what was that?
Jimmy: [laughing]
Lizzie: I’m sorry,, I didn’t quite [inaudible] to be honest, ok-
Oli (talking over her): … LDShadowlady- [snickering, one singular high pitched laugh]
(pause)
Oli and Jimmy: [losing it]
im actually so abnormal about RatsSMP its not even out yet
the fact that lizzie and jimmy and so many of the outsiders are in it and SNIFFERISH and SMAJOR like we are getting treated here its going to be the most lgbt group ever (and jimmy)
…actually now that i think about it jimmys the only straight member thats been announced. token straight man. holy shit.
Lizzie wears a crown made of wither roses; she’s a queen with no followers to her name.
Queens should not have to die alone. A queen does not lose her devoted followers once she starts to reek of blood and once her death starts edging closer. A queen should not have to watch as her home burns to the ground at the hand of someone she once trusted and she should not have to die in a way that leaves her rotting body at the feet of a man that she hasn’t even wronged.
Queens should not live in isolation. A queen is not supposed to struggle to get people to attend a gathering she curated for herself. In fact, it’s a staple that she always has people by her side. A queen does not lose her life to an illegitimate swordsman who never meant to strike her down, and she should not have to live her life embarrassingly only to die in that same state of embarrassment.
Queens shouldn’t have to worry about taking revenge on those who have wronged her, yet she’s found herself spiteful and resentful by the end of both lifetimes.
She wears a crown made of the roses that are left behind by another’s death. The roses that wither are a memorial of those who stole the spotlight from her own passing. One of her killers goes out in a blaze of glory in an attempt to prove himself worthy of being loved again, and another goes out in a flurry of pride and self-reassurance, breaking a curse that may or may not exist. A single, mourning black rose is left in their wake, and yet it’s enough to take attention away from her own corpse. Her death -- just an insignificant occurrence; just another player lost to the game.
The thorns of such a pretty, little thing dig their way into the head of a queen with no kingdom to rule: it’s a painful reminder of those who died after her, yet were mourned as if their lives meant so much more. They prick and prod at her skin and slowly chip bits of her life away, but no one notices, no one cares to. Arguably, she is a damsel, but she didn’t need saving, she just needed to be loved.
Lizzie is no queen, for her death is bound to be overshadowed by another. It’s an unfair, unjust way to go. Even going out as a villain is better than going out forgotten because that’s just it; you aren’t forgotten by the others. Remembrance is a prize you can offer the dead, and yet she is often never graced with such.