In the heart of a forest, where whispers tread light,

A queen lost her footsteps to shadowed delight,

Her crown made of petals, her gown woven dreams,

Yet fear drifts like daggers through the silvery beams.

With each step that falters on pathways of moss,

The darkness around her begins to emboss

The edges of laughter that danced in the sun,

Now echoes of silence, where once there was fun.

“Where are my subjects?” she murmurs with dread,

As branches like fingers reach out for her head.

The fireflies flicker—small lanterns of fright,

The chill wraps around her; it swallows the light.

Oh! Trees twist and spiral like thoughts gone awry,

A cacophony whispers from shadows nearby.

Her heart races faster; a race without end—

In a forest of phantoms where nightmares descend.

With each rustle bemoaned by the chilling embrace,

She dreams of return to her bright royal place.

Yet deeper she wanders through thickets of despair,

“Will I ever break free from this darkened snare?”

As thorns draw near closer their wicked intent,

Through bramble and gloom her courage is bent.

But even when lost in this haunting ballet,

Hope flickers within her—a guide on the way.

For not all is hopeless in twilight’s cruel haze;

In madness can sometimes weave wisdom’s bright gaze.

And so with a shudder and heart pounding fast,

She seeks out the dawn in the shadows amassed.