The Circle of Woe

They made her naked, but she wasn’t afraid

And so she cradles her last in the frosty storm of her palm.

She glared at the rigidness in her fingers, cursing the gods for not blessing her with the breath of fire.

For it was defiance that withered her empty of abundance that all but killed her passions.

‘Can I sit with you?’

She glanced at the cream flurry, distorting her vision with white powder and an umber hue.

Her voice scraped a whisper barely audible in the whirling of the whistling winds.

‘Yes,’ she nodded swiftly.

The more the merrier, she thought to herself.

She felt a weight press against the blanket that hardly relieved the stiffness in her shoulders.

Then arms snaked around her waist and she was met with a sudden warmth.

However, on any normal occasion, this behavior was unacceptable.

She figured the dominance of the storm would beat even the largest man into submission.

‘I missed you sister,’ their voice passed a shiver down her spine.

Has it come time?

She flew through the crumbs of the universe and crashed to earth on a broken wing.

They found her.

She drew a breath lazily blowing bits of snowflakes before nibbling the corner of the hardened bread.

But what else could they take?

They stripped her of her status, lover, and grace.

So what more could she give? What more could they take?

‘Can I have some bread?’

She thought too soon — too late!