Years on end she had persevered, in her quest to turn
wolves into humans
But today when she realized the utter futility of her
endeavours
She was broken, beyond repair...
She continued with a rare fervour
Penning down in the scarlet ink of her blood, words long
since caged inside a tender soul
Well aware that in the wake of a dawn that arrives too late
All that would remain was a lifeless corpse, a dizzying trail
of blood
Morphed into a voice that would speak from across the
grave
The silence finally broken with those scarlet scribbles on
scented parchment
Her life reduced to a small stack of pages...
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