About a woman whose life at present was not of her choosing.
|They called to me, those winged angels, whose call is but my death.
I quake at the stillness your soul made not, but stirred mine at your slightest glance.
I stood by my window; it is my jail, which kept me locked from you.
Nearer and nearer they came, on horses black as coal. You who stood in the darkened night under the pale moon light, whose shadow cast not…waited.
You came not to save but to jest at the pain that awaited me. Icy cold with a soul wedded to its temperament were unfelt, yet in my presence, a passion all consumed.
Further imbued with the thoughts of death did I succumb to your will and laid there as life poured its soul upon the cold ground. My death was yours in which life breathed its power in every fiber of your being and made you the monster I feared most, yet loved.
Even though I walked alone, a death like stupor drove me forward. Your presence always felt, a thirst unneeded, unquenched. I craved for it so much that my heart pained in its unbeaten state.
Madness became my outlet. I willed it so. I willed it most joyously that I celebrated its release. Therefore, I laughed at you, I cursed your name full out and took back the life you drained from me. In one swift movement, its silver blade pierced my chest and freed me from the hunger quest that was doomed my fate for all eternity. I have been released from you.