Her skin pale, taut, torn,
Her eyes cast at the mournful moon.
'How long,' She whispers,
Since the day bled out? Since
She'd been alone in the moonlight?
Broken wings folded neatly, she stood.
Bare feet on broken glass, blood
On the cold stone floor.
She looks up again, the shattered roof
Of the abandoned church.
The young priest shudders.
His words lose all meaning, fading
Into the echoes of her whimpers.
A thousand questions voiced at once.
She turns her head, black hair and lace
Falling gracefully around her pale face. With
A single tear drop of crimson blood.
She touches the place her wings once were.
'I...' Her words c
