The Queen Who Kept What Was Hers

She does not stand as a symbol, or as a warning.

She stands because there are some things a person refuses to give away — even when the world expects them to. The heart she holds is not a spectacle, not a trophy, not an offering. It is what remains after years of carrying more than she was meant to bear, after learning the difference between being loved and being used.

The roses are not softness.
They are weight — memory layered upon memory — every vow, every betrayal, every quiet compromise stitched into the fabric of her life.

There is no anger in her expression.
No pleading.
No apology.

Only the steadiness of someone who has finally chosen herself, and will not pretend otherwise.

She is not cruel.
She is not tragic.

She is sovereign.

Heather Lynn Donovan
Always by Candlelight