Scars on my soul

The little girl sat on the edge of her bed
Her hands held tightly to the sides of her head
Blue eyes wide with fear of unseen things
Shedding tears, mourning her broken wings.

The little girl wore a white gown of silk
Her skin was soft and pale as fresh milk
Pretty red mouth mumbled prayer after prayer
Crying out, but there was no one to care.

The little girl slept peaceful as a flower
Lost entirely in slumber to her dream's power
Scattered splashes of red like rose petals
Decorated her chest like honourary metals.

The little girl died, disgraced, defiled
Never a woman, no longer a child
Stained red silk and scars on her soul
Nothing left of the girl to console.

Penned by my hand on the 18th of Daedalan, in the year 366 AF.