New blood

She sat on her throne,

carved from demon's bones,

polished with crimson blood.

She was not impassive,

So unlike her father

She always grinned in gory glee

She looked down at her subjects

Or what remained of them

Flesh and bones disarray

She needed fresh blood

So she reached for her father

The Devil...they called him

She cackled in amusement

If he were the Devil

What would she be?

What should we call an evil

Who was greater than he?

He, feared by all, even gods?

Let's think for that another time

For now, she shall bask in triumph

For her turn to rule has come

She suddenly felt a pull

It tugged her away

Up, up and upwards

A mundane kitchen

She found herself there

Quite amusing, she thought

Instead of a throne

She sat on a stool

With backrest's absence

Instead of blood

She was faced with strawberries

Frozen in sweet cream

With as much fervor

As she would show with blood

She drowned herself with pink cold cream

She only later noticed

A poor mortal agape

Such a poor unfortunate soul

You dare summon me?

Asked she, feigning anger

Oh Dad's gonna kill you

She said in a teasing tone

Too bad I killed him first