(Art credits to charliizza on Tiktok)

Kinger sat on the cold floor, legs folded beneath him, his posture slouched like the weight of years pressed against his shoulders. His hands trembled faintly as they held the small, worn photograph—creased edges, the colors slightly faded, but her smile still alive within the frame. Queenie. His Queen. His wife.

A soft chuckle escaped him, though it wavered into something fragile, almost broken.

“We’re free now, Honey,”

he whispered, voice rough with exhaustion yet laced with a tenderness reserved only for her. “Do you hear that? Free. No more games. No more…”

He brushed his thumb over the image as though he could feel her warmth through the paper. For a moment, his eyes softened, a flicker of relief glimmering in the sorrow. But then the silence pressed in too deeply, reminding him of the truth— she wasn’t here to answer back.