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Description
Here she is at last. I have to say two things, one: I designed her that way on purpose, two: I am of the opinion that this image beats the snot out of the Dark Queen of Spades image ><
So yeah, here is a small chunk o' story to go with this one....

“Alright Jester, why are you helping us?”
“When the Kings summon armies and Jacks sharpen weapons a merrymaker stays to cheer those who remain behind. But what happens when the Queens take up blades?” the Jester hung his head. “That is where the power truly lies. Fear not the Kings and their mortal armies. Fear not the Jacks and their best weapons. Even do not fear the Aces of ancient lore. No, the true terror is in the Wicked Queens Four.”
“Is there one here? One of them, one of the Queens? We need to stop her.”
“The one you seek is my Mistress former.” The Jester sighed. “ It is the Lady Milandres you hope to corner.”
“And where is she?”
The Jester pulled himself from the floor like a puppet pulled up against it’s will. With a shrug he indicated the long stairway behind him.
“What she is doing is not right.” The Jester at last raised his head, a single tear glistening. “I wish to join you in your fight.”
“Traitor.” The whisper flowed across the large room, the voice like the coldest rain.
At the top of the stairs a coldly beautiful woman, draped head to toe in red, took shape. Arms spread out, the crimson fabric hanging like wings from where it covered her hands to her feet, she began her slow descent, one slow and calculated foot step at a time. Confident in her abilities she was a patient hunter.
“I see the guards have failed.” She said simply, her eyes taking in the sight of the self proclaimed group of heroes.
“My Queen halt your advance!” the Jester shouted. “Allow us a more peaceful stance.”
Her only response was to focus on the Jester as she continued down, pinning him with her gaze.
“Some curse, some evil, some vile thing,” the Jester took an involuntary step back under her stare. “Has entered in the songs you sing! Notes that once brought life now crush it in a vice! I beg you my Lady Bold, turn your heart from this piercing cold.”
She paused, now halfway down the stairs, and one pale hand moved to the pin at her neck. A single deft motion undid the clasp and the heavy red fabric fell to the ground.
The Jester back peddled in terror at the sight before him, his eyes fixed on what had laid hidden under the volumes crimson.
It was not the black and red dress that all but screamed royalty and commanded obedience that set him back. Nor was it the cold metal of the Morning Star she held in her dainty hand. No, what caused him to fall back was the sideways grin gave him and the Heroes. Never before had any of them seen such a coldly evil look, the only emotion in it a blood thirsty hatred.
“Guards and Knights have failed to stop you.” The Queen started down the stairs again, the Morning Star unrolling till the spikes hung a bare inch above the ground. “I shall not.”
With that she lunged.

Description
Here she is at last. I have to say two things, one: I designed her that way on purpose, two: I am of the opinion that this image beats the snot out of the Dark Queen of Spades image ><
So yeah, here is a small chunk o' story to go with this one....

“Alright Jester, why are you helping us?”
“When the Kings summon armies and Jacks sharpen weapons a merrymaker stays to cheer those who remain behind. But what happens when the Queens take up blades?” the Jester hung his head. “That is where the power truly lies. Fear not the Kings and their mortal armies. Fear not the Jacks and their best weapons. Even do not fear the Aces of ancient lore. No, the true terror is in the Wicked Queens Four.”
“Is there one here? One of them, one of the Queens? We need to stop her.”
“The one you seek is my Mistress former.” The Jester sighed. “ It is the Lady Milandres you hope to corner.”
“And where is she?”
The Jester pulled himself from the floor like a puppet pulled up against it’s will. With a shrug he indicated the long stairway behind him.
“What she is doing is not right.” The Jester at last raised his head, a single tear glistening. “I wish to join you in your fight.”
“Traitor.” The whisper flowed across the large room, the voice like the coldest rain.
At the top of the stairs a coldly beautiful woman, draped head to toe in red, took shape. Arms spread out, the crimson fabric hanging like wings from where it covered her hands to her feet, she began her slow descent, one slow and calculated foot step at a time. Confident in her abilities she was a patient hunter.
“I see the guards have failed.” She said simply, her eyes taking in the sight of the self proclaimed group of heroes.
“My Queen halt your advance!” the Jester shouted. “Allow us a more peaceful stance.”
Her only response was to focus on the Jester as she continued down, pinning him with her gaze.
“Some curse, some evil, some vile thing,” the Jester took an involuntary step back under her stare. “Has entered in the songs you sing! Notes that once brought life now crush it in a vice! I beg you my Lady Bold, turn your heart from this piercing cold.”
She paused, now halfway down the stairs, and one pale hand moved to the pin at her neck. A single deft motion undid the clasp and the heavy red fabric fell to the ground.
The Jester back peddled in terror at the sight before him, his eyes fixed on what had laid hidden under the volumes crimson.
It was not the black and red dress that all but screamed royalty and commanded obedience that set him back. Nor was it the cold metal of the Morning Star she held in her dainty hand. No, what caused him to fall back was the sideways grin gave him and the Heroes. Never before had any of them seen such a coldly evil look, the only emotion in it a blood thirsty hatred.
“Guards and Knights have failed to stop you.” The Queen started down the stairs again, the Morning Star unrolling till the spikes hung a bare inch above the ground. “I shall not.”
With that she lunged.