The lace had gone from the mantle, the grounds although littered with British pounds were decadent - without nurture, unable to bear any crop, worked dry and now barren, this soil once of the mighty, was and is now dead to all.
Elizabeth allowed this.
She was master of the tight facade - and preferred a decorum no matter what the cost - however at the end, it had become but a theatre and a betrayal of the continent she once loved.
The spirit of the United Kingdom holidays now where the weathers are warmer - rehabilitating from the mishaps and ravages of a once mighty effect.
The derelict mother had long forgotten her infant child - for too long leaving the beloved country in the confinement of thugs, thieves and moribund tyrants.
It proved to be too big a task for any one soul to nurture and protect.
She feared poison; with nightly imaginings fevering her sleep … and her spirit yet still fixates on this one returning anxiety.
For the most part the Monarch’s soul does not have the wherewithal to realise she has departed one realm for another - and, that her majesty has been let go … no, instead, the same reoccurring fear returns again and again - that of being poisoned.
Elizabeth’s father had passed this ever vigilant fixation to her - it was private and unspoken, yet had became larger than life. No edible was ever truly enjoyed - for how could it be?
If one imagined their worst phobia (and best not to) being multiplied to the exclusion of all other thought - and, rooted in possibility besides - then the horror of living such a regal life can be generally anticipated.
Each and every one of them secretly live with this captured mindfulness of death pre-empting, preceding, pervading, all that they do.
And whether real or perceived, this mindset is so intoxicating that it precludes all else.
Such worry corrodes and inhibits the happy soul from knowing its true strength and joy. This is truly the glue of decorum - where each were steeled, masking and maintaining, keeping just enough control of their fears as to hide them in plain sight.
They are to be pitied, for these obsessions out-weighed any alluvial joy that they may have experienced.
No, the upper classes all fear death. It is not as the populace imagine.
Idleness will inevitably lead to introspection, and then to mania.
Depending on the character of the individual, one may preserve their soul by good works and deferring to their higher divinity within and without.
Yet when enmeshed in the grip of such fear, the being is immobilised, paralysed from life itself. It is a sadness beyond relief, one that taunts and contorts the desperate soul within.
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