The darkness has finally descended.
The walls of the city rising up,
wet with copious tears.
She sits at her vanity,
freed,
like a marionette with severed strings.
Candles banish the gloom around her,
framing her in an oval of flickering flames.
Raucous cries come from the streets below.
Sluts, peddling their bodies like trinkets.
Street musicians grinding out their melancholy operas.
Looking into the mirror,
She paints her lips scarlet red.
Charcoal eyes shine,
beneath the silky curtains of her onyx hair.
A smile, of purest poison, curls her mouth.
Her rage knows no boundaries.
Contains within it no reason.
Only dusky memories of wrongs done to her.
Rising, she pinches out the candle flame.
And with stiletto stealth,
she joins the other shadow dancers.
Prancing and preening like ghastly aristocrats,
through the dirty city streets.
Tonight she is the huntress,
And the scent of blood is thick on the air.
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