She stands gracefully, with skin ashy white and a dress of darkest black. The stark contrast means little, compared to her sorrowful expression. What is it that has caused her so much pain? Perhaps the black dress is one of mourning. A loved one lost, never to be retrieved again? No, perhaps not. Woven in her hair is the gold of royalty. Perhaps it is her duties and her unwillingness to fulfill them that is at fault. It is hard to imagine something so beautiful feeling so broken, and yet there it is resting plainly on her face. Do not let go, dearest woman in black. The sun will rise again, to illuminate another day for you yet.