The Skeleton King’s Redemption

They crowned him king in hollow halls,

With jewels black and crumbling walls.

His bones were white as winter's breath—

A monarch carved from lies and death.

~

His lords all swore with poisoned tongues,

Their dagger-hands and serpent songs.

They left him broken, bound in chains,

Beneath the keep where moonlight wanes.

~

But in the dark, a voice arose,

A woman clad in night's repose.

Her touch like fire on his spine—

"Rise, my king. Your throne is mine."

~

She gathered every scattered piece,

His skull, his ribs—her love no thief.

With fingers soft yet forged in flame,

She whispered back his ancient name.

~

"Why save a wretch the world denies?"

"Because," she smiled, "dead men tell no lies."

She kissed his palm of bleached despair—

And flesh returned beneath her care.

~

Now hand in hand, they rule the deep,

Where traitors wail and shadows weep.

Her heart the drum, his bones the lyre—

Death’s own crown, born from fire.

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