Wrought of pain and unforgiving time,
the woman stood at the altar.
No suffering of hate
No bruising of weak egos
would drive her from her course.
She placed the battered egg on the broken crown,
crimson falling off the shell and
on to the crown’s
golden shimmer.
Bathed in the warm light
of broken gods and nascent monsters,
She willed terror into their hearts.
Woven as shadowed blankets
of blood and destruction,
vengeance covered all things.
The fires in the distance
her final salvation as their life ebbed
into nothingness.
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Copyright 2025 Russell Dickerson. All rights reserved.