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
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