Analysis of Her nightly Jester

If only my queen would tell me her name.
The grace of her steps towards her throne leaves me in awe, dumbfounded when her scent tackles me back into the reality of the day. The King is on his thrown, glaring at me. I have realized that what I want most I never will have, but I stare, regardless at the one that will never fully be mine. The depths of my soul are forced to wait patiently at her feet until it is time yet again for her to beckon me to her never ending quarters for another session of midnight jestering when the king refuses to come home to his palace.