The queen of the Ember Kind

Never have I beheld a creature so powerful nor beautiful as when I bore witness to the queen of ashes her skin glowed the soft warm yellow orange of a gently roaring fire. Her form as curvy as the mountains that her Kingdome ran beneath. Her body. Though of petite stature commanded respect. Neither through vain nor cruelty but in the lulling calls of her beauty. Neither man nor woman ever raised hand or blade to the queen of ash. And why would anyone? Her hair flowed about her face in such a way that nearly hypnotizes ones soul with its Smokey tendrils. Each seeming to bear an animation of its own. Softly soothing even the savagest soul. Her fiery green gaze peering out from the crown that was her face. Her lips plump and inviting, drawing you to her like a moth to the candle flame. Her title as queen was not earned by sheer beauty. The queen’s political prowess astonished all the surrounding kingdoms. Speaking never with her voice but that of her entire people. Their entire race.  The queen  never rose to sputter or flame. Her tone always sinfully soft and sinfully sweet. But a deeper power lay beneath those eyes. Had she wanted no nation would be able to stand against she.  She was the incarnation of mother earth’s fire. Neither man nor beast can survive on an earth set aflame.