walls of ice
are her frigid, unwielding
home

merely existing
as hell freezes over
and she skates upon
its delicate treachery

her allies have melted
away
and their memories
puddle around her feet
lost, forever

her hands bloodied
as she tries to
breakthrough the glass ceiling
unable to escape
the bitter cold
of solitary

she lingers
in her thoughts and fantasies
but there remains lonesome

Penned by my hand on the 8th of Miraman, in the year 387 AF.