“Girl! Up! Where’s our breakfast?”
hearth long grown cold
glittering glass in growing light
“Girl! Answer me! Where are you?”
calloused fingers to never move again
Glimmering glass in midmorning light
Red rose lips, bloodless skin
Dying grass and still-stale air
Pale flakes melting as they fall
The skulls grin.
Twining vines, vines twining,
Swords swallowed in undergrowth,
Hands broken and rotten.
The beauty sleeps.
forest floor—pale and soft
fallen from on high
in desperate flight
crimson drying on white
call silenced mid-cry
never again to rise—
collapsed, magic stolen, gone,
lost when laughter fled
stone crumbled on
dead grass, golden hair
on freezing wind blown away
Bitingly bitter breeze;
icy hair tugged by freezing water.
“My dear sister,” calls a voice,
tone a loving lie.
“My dear sister,” calls a voice.
The bitingly bitter breeze howls.
The moon shines on the stones,
little feet pattering along an untrod path,
brother and sister in the woods seeking home.
“Delicious!” the witch declares, turning
to hold the spoon to the girl’s mouth.
“Taste your brother, dear.”