Ashen Bride

they called her cinder, called her dust a girl to scorn, a thing to crush but embers sleep and coals still burn and wicked hands will take their turn she sewed her gown from moonlit screams spun silver thread from shattered dreams the glass upon her feet was red from all the tears her hands had bled the ball was bright, a golden snare but she was shadow standing there the prince, a pawn, so soft, so sweet she danced him raw on bleeding feet his lips met hers--his breath turned ice a kiss of ruin, cold as vice for midnight struck and so did she no fairy god, no mercy free she left behind no slippered trace just shattered glass, an empty face and when the dawn revealed the floor the prince would dance--nevermore