Long, black hair cascading down,
Like blood from her dirk to the ground.
A serpent girl, asked for a dance,
Not knowing it would lead to romance.

He was a magi with a dream
To explore a world he had not seen.
Unknowing her suitor's intention,
Off to the arena on her own mission!

Walking there, the two alone,
'Twas hard for him to pay attention.
Uncomfortable silence, deafening.
Her hypnotic gaze, ever mesmerising.

A rapid jerk from trees above
hoists him up into the sky,
and as he exhales his last breath,
she giggles one word -- "Die."

Penned by my hand on the 17th of Scarlatan, in the year 607 AF.