Softly aglow are the stars above hair set aflame;
Teeth split skin betwixt a grin black as midnight;
We know not what she says, but our thoughts she does tame,
And from the fog of centuries comes clarity flame-bright.
Time cleaves in twain, a window into what Once Was;
She rages and seethes against ghosts never-forgotten;
The heavens churn as she twists her claws,
Ceding one gift last to sunder Woe's heart gone rotten.
Upon the profaned few, her mandate does fall,
A voice upon a gelid wind whispers: kill them all.


Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Chronos, in the year 935 AF.