In the back she hides.

On the wind rides

A thousand hundred rumors

Of witchcraft, magic black.

Dark eyes, watching them.

As she rises, the hem

Of her coat sweeps the floor.

Is she alive? Has she died?

Surely - this child, cloaked in darkness

Body covered in markings

Scars that have become ghostly white -

Beneath this flesh is a spirit wild.

A soul, she has not

Firey hair wrought

In the forges of hell.

A life of solitude, her solitary goal.

From ashes, comes forth

A new love takes its course.

But her masters, her keepers -

If she dared she would earn

A thousand lashes.

Taking the risk, her life on the line

Partaking of the bittersweet wine.

If tommorow I am gone

Then you know they have won.

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