Why was I born what I am? It is only I.
I am the sovereign of a season that is ending.
Who calls me queen, unless it be the queen of things that exist no more,
Or of the leaves in the instant that they swim in the dusty air?
Already the mist submerges the valleys and, through the fog,
The Moon shines forth, like a beckoning finger with sharply pointed nail.
Lead me....
The Commander: Where?
The Princess: To your testator, there.
(She approaches the body of the king.