I had a dream of a lace dress worn by sculpted ice, although in modest form were the expressions she portrayed.
Dripping wet upon melting those crystal brook tears denting her diminishing cheeks.
It was the dehydration that betrayed us.
To breathe life forever more I must drink her.
Among all thy plagues and epidemic destructions one world could endure, those rolling drops of potent poison were apocalyptic.
I drank thy curse, an error of mortal design.