Her thoughts are a bulwark of hedonism and pain,
who will dare storm it with hate and vain.

Princess oh princess their voices shout,
whipped by carmine thorns in a lethal clout.

Your words speak of heroes but your actions sew malice,
life is no fairytale and you arent alice.

So bring forth another herold on his steed,
may hybris put an end to his ignorant deed.

Pale skinned and crimson lips,
the fallen angel's ichor drips.

Golden droplets raining on cold flesh,
folded wings slowly covered in ash.

"Put down sword and feather,
surrender your soul to the aether."

Her mighty voice reverberates in glory,
a slender digit raised so accusatory.

-The Crescent Moon