The Queen in Cyan

For every King in Yellow, there shall always be a Queen in Cyan

An old European story tells that there was once an old and wise king. His wisdom, greater than his castle and his clothes, yellow as the scorching sun above his blessed lands. He ruled his kingdom with great love and care for every single being mother nature blessed with life, as such it was a peaceful one.
The people loved him, for he was as loving of them.
"THE KING IN YELLOW" is what the people were chanting every moment the compassionate king left his throne to wander the kingdom.
As beautiful as the kingdom he so dearly wandered seemed to him, nothing was more beautiful in his eyes than his Queen. A wonderful young woman, always wearing coralled ocean-like clothes.
The two rulers spent all most of their time together, for the king had one eye and a mind for his people, and one eye and a heart for The Queen in Cyan.
"For every King in Yellow, there must always be a Queen in Cyan" was a common saying by the people of the kingdom.
As much as the king seemed to love his beloved wife, her love for him was even more grandiose, more beautiful than anyone could ever imagine. He was her mind, her soul and her body, for only a King in Yellow could truly love a Queen in Cyan.
The Queen, the King and the people all lived under the blissful sun for many, many years. Some do not even remember how many there were, nor could they, for there was so much to do, so much to see and enjoy in this beautiful kingdom that no life could be longevive enough to notice the passage of time.
One fateful night, however, the news break over. The people start talking, screaming, mourning. The Queen, who just came back from a visit from afar, confused as a kid in a new country, asks one of the townsfolk about his sadness.
"The King in Yellow is no longer with us, your majesty." he says.
The Queen, as fast as the wind can go and even faster, gallops towards her blissful home, only to encounter her biggest curse.
Her feet collapse under the weight of the lead-like sorrow, as she gazed upon her greatest fear : The King is dead.
Many years pass by, and the Queen is nowhere to be found. The kingdom had collapsed many years before, for there was no ruler besides them. Some people who may have wandered the nature-ruled castle say that they could hear the Queen's banshee-like, madness-driven mourns and her galloping, ghostly steps in the middle of the night. Perhaps she passed away, and her soul still wanders the castle, looking for her king.
For the old saying perhaps is genuine : "For every King in Yellow, there shall always be a Queen in Cyan."