One lonely fiend took out his palate one day
And painted a portrait of a beast
A woman of scorn and tears and rage
A lover he would never meet
Her hair like quills of an armored shield
Her eyes of hypnotic green
Displayed for the world to know her name
And labeled, the queen of mean
How awful, they thought, to know such a witch
We'd burn her if we had the chance
Ages past and spectators admired the detail of this man's work
Until one day a lonely traveler entered town square
Her features were dark and expression exhausted but all the towns people just stared
It did not take long before the eyes were known and the crowd roared with disgust
A tear rolled down the weary woman's face as she spotted the artist through the mob
Her right hand raised holding a single white rose, outstretched in his direction
The artist was silent as he advanced through the horde
Passing through, the congregation grew silent
He took the rose as her chin raise and their eyes locked as once before
As his blue pools welled his cracking voice whispered "I'm sorry" and the masses, they gasped.
As the tired woman turned away to leave the rumbling grew to a roar
Was that the witch?
Did her eyes burn?
How could you let her leave?
The artist stood, staring at the rose, a symbol of innocence and purity
"You only know one picture, not her" was all he said as his tears began to fall
Destroying the painting was all he could do
He knew they would never forget
Consumed by guilt, he could not stay and hear stories of the mean queen he created
He packed up his paints and set off to find her
Vowing not to rest until he held her wounded heart