In the darkest of her widowed light.
The shadows plunge with all their might
At her child sick in heart
To strike his brow and drag him off.
The shadows laugh as they go saying
“It is late. It is fate. Never to be
changed.”
Harsh in sound and demonic in style they
end.
She chases into that laughter
Casting down the devil and his knights.
Her childs hers and hers alone.
Not fate. Not anything, will change her
will.
She'll have her son - forever, always.
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