She lives under a world accompanied by

Voices of unyielding fairies and prompting

Hellhounds. The room she’s entombed herself

In has no corner to crouch in. Soon these shackles

Of tribulation will strangle the fallen Titan and

The world will crumble down on top of her.

If only she’d wear the glass slippers I gifted her with,

The road behind her wouldn’t look so rocky.


And yet she continues to run up it. The breeze

Is deafening, the snow has frozen her eyes shut.

Her incessant weeping only bounces off the

Ageing sunrise. She screams at the unstirred skyline,

That retorts with its habitual white noise. She returns

Lethargic and embittered to her stifling cave, where

Those galling shadows cannot follow her.

But deep down in the residue of her heart, she knows

Their only trying to help.

The End

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