What She Sees
By Gita Toronjil-Lee


Her orange eyes,

though focused as a hawk's on prey,

don't see the hall

purple and obsidian

that stretches in before her,

or the deformed armies

who wait at her beck and call.

She doesn't see the crystal sphere

directly in front of her

though her hands continue to caress it.


In her first commander,

she doesn't see the senseless devotion

deep within his blue-violet eyes.

Nor does she see

what he accomplished in her name

his amassing of energy and information --

or the look of betrayal on his face

framed in blonde, smeared from battle,

when she silences his pleas forever

in endless ice.


In her second commander,

she misses a growing belligerence

and animosity between

this second and he who will be third.

She doesn't see

how he is slipping toward the enemy --

but he doesn't either;

neither sees it coming when

death shocks his blue eyes and green blood

mats his auburn hair.


In her third commander,

she doesn't see the pursuit of his goals

that he tries to accomplish with all of his heart,

and she doesn't notice the fact

that his heart is only for her future fourth.

She is blind to the knowledge

that her ruthless, reckless, copper-haired third

with a vengeful spirit within poison-green eyes

will do something that she doesn't see coming --

though she will kill him for it.


In her fourth commander,

she should see that pain that crosses his face

as she eliminates the third.

But she doesn't, and continues to miss

the empty, primal hurt in his ice-blue eyes

and the hatred that blinds him

as surely as she is blind herself --

she doesn't see him lose his nature of fight

or his will to live

not even when it causes his death.


In it that commands her --

her goddess, her demon mistress,

embodiment of evil and malice,

there is a growing mood of impatience.

It is over her blindness,

but she does not see this

or that she is walking on thin ice

and that her own ineptitude

is putting her into boundless danger

of her own doing.


She is aware of all these things, but she does not see them.


So what does she see?


She sees her dreams --

the earth falling before her feet,

and the downfall of her sworn enemies.

She can see this with utmost clarity

when she will truly be the queen

that she styles herself,

when finally all her years of servitude

of being a monarch of nothingness

will terminate, and yield

in her absolute glory.


But her vision is impeded most by armor,

silver and blue and black,

and by the man within,

blue-eyed and raven-haired and noble --

what she sees

is the prince she desires

choosing not to see that his destiny

lies with another and cannot be denied.

She doesn't see that in his heart of hearts

he despises her.


She does not see that everyone around her feels the same.


And her blindness will be her downfall.


Notes: Short and sweet and simple. Easy writing, which began its life as a fic, done in about fifteen minutes, that I considered too short, and redid as a poem. No angst, no romance, no nothing. 'Cause it's Beryl, for pity's sake. I mean, she's often overlooked, but I don't see her as complex -- just a victim of self-inflicted stupidity.

Oh, and the characters referred to aren't mine. Did I need to mention that?


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