Arguments flaring with no real fuel, setting alight figurative buildings for the sake of ones enjoyment. The opponents coming with a spread of answers and questions to throw in her direction. Alas, my Queen, she may fall this time if her sharp tongue does not sneer in the right way, or if her words are mellowed and empty. My fair Queen, do not revel in glory that may not last, for bickering is a win not stable to gloat about. Your downfall may come a second away, or might have happened without you announcing it; for your mouth only shall speak of victories. My Queen, do not stumble, get back up and bite them all with your snarky manners and toxic ways that speak in vain. My Queen, one of triumphs, deceives those against her, forcing them to chose the lower path and fall into her shadow. The feminine ruler known for her pain infliction, the satanic angel who dances a dance of madness, the Queen of arguments.

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