She was a beauty

He never realized just how beautiful this fallen Queen was

Her eyes were honey brown

Her lips plump

Her mane long and untamed

He could no longer picture her lips in a smile

He supposes she had the most exquisite sort of smile

He thought of how strong her lips must be

To twist themselves to form such a sight for her children as she read to them

You would think that looking back at their life, he would feel remorse

But it was nothing of the sort.

His heart did not clench in an antagonizing sort of pain

His blood did not run cold

His eyes did not water

He had no agony to release, no pain to expel

He was simply numb to her.

Maybe that was why she punished him so

Why she had him find her

Soaked in her own misery

Stained in red

It was a usual color on this fallen queen

He often painted her in it himself

But never did the crimson paint looked so alive

Never did anyone wear death so beautifully

She was a new woman

Not the one he left cowering before him that morning 

Death had not taken from her

It gave to her 

A new flame 

It sparked in her the flame of rebellion that he saw only a few times

This woman resembled the one he met all those years ago

On the eve of their wedding 

clad in that green dress

The same one who propositioned him 

To take her to undo her every time they fucked 

The woman he slowly snuffed out 

And in the cruelest way, killed. 

He never loved her, not once

He couldn't even recall hating her 

He supposes that he did what he did because he could 

That was the answer to any questions

The truth of it 

Piero De Pablo killed his wife slowly for twenty-five years simply because he could 

because he did not care

To him, she was never his wife 

To him, that beauty was always and will always be  his Padrona

And  whoever truly cared about them