Kaylin Mysterious

A brush of wind as soft as ash,

And Zephyr's ice-train rushes forth,

Created from the pow'r of light,

The darkness-man, his jealousy foretold;

For in five he'll be the end,

The rest, but one, will burn

The woman-ghost, secrets her cloak,

And memories her eternal fire;

When they were stripped,

She was returned to burning Tokyo,

Nothing more than a lover's words

And a book inside her palms

To lead her to the truth

Of whom the Darus had really made

When she had taken the only escape;

In the mire of her fate,

The labyrinth woven against time,

A broken octagon of smoke,

The links alight with shadows, pain,

Yet forcefully she found the truth,

That in the end it's win or lose,

Candle to the axe-tied string,

Her destruction is his create;

In equal power, it's equal fall.

A city burning, left to die,

As time floods on to noon,

The night is high, all veiled in flames,

Another portal-gate, will awake,

The little-waiting car will come

To take her on to somewhere new,

Where his shadow haunts her still,

And the future, eighth one knows:

Her days are numbered,

Condemned to glow in embers of loss

And love and trickery,

The numbers that peel back forever,

To their fundamental conclusion.

The End

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