Grasping comfort from the nettles, blood pouring free—a new friend.

Not hearing the shattering doors, the pleads, the screams.

First holds a locket, chained to the memories

The other one skips along to rot and withering

Arms wrapping tight around herself, eyes closing to all the horror unseen.

A girl is playing among ancient petals, thorns tearing at flesh unfeeling.

A father holds to the fate of hearts last blessing

His savior sings eternal words of stone’s confessing

Hearing the crack of bone, the shrieks, she is imagining fireworks.

Her home, her heart, her family, one by one igniting and fading into darkness.

Bladed tongue and whispered lies are everchanging

Shaded heart and fettered gaze of life unwaning

Everything is growing still, silence meeting blooded lids. Sparks flaring.

Now sitting alone, fingers unmoving, somehow she is drawing a picture.

Another stands still as glass until we’re dreaming

Can’t speak the final name unless you’re screaming

Her crying abades, inferno is turning into pillars of ash, and daylight is waning.

Yet, she is still sitting. Her flowing rose-red companion slicking the cold hands of eyes refusing to open.

These are the only signs, the only hope, our only clue

Yet what little good they’ll do when shadows come for you

—Threepwin’s Treasure and Tales, Page 88