Viranda, the Hunted

The night winds caress whispers of death
Ancient to their beliefs
The stale essence dances around her body
Trees glazed with fire-red flames
Lighting the path of destruction
A deceiving symbol of faith is represented
All bared a long wooden dagger
She lay there enclosed in her surroundings
With the protection of her mind
Pale faced
A doll of fine china
Frozen to the enchantment
Whispers are carried louder
Echoing through her inner cavities
Her all seeing eyes open
The heat of the path is laid heavier
Disappearing within her haven of trees
The stale scent grows
With each movement she feels invisible
Feeling the heat of death on her back
She consumes the darkness
Hiding from herself
Hiding from symbols of her demise
Losing herself amongst this place she called home
For every tree she passed she gained speed
Into an opening she came
As naked as the world waiting for the end
She is discovered
Harpoons of wood embrace her flesh
Cutting her down like a single tree
Cries and pleas fill the dark
All is not heard by the forgotten mind
"Curse you all!
Men of the cross,
For your maker will be your downfall!"
She screamed into the unforgiving nightly winds
Which in the end proclaimed her death
Like a single prick form a thorn she bled
The radiant rays of light destroyed her
Blowing the ashes of centuries into hands of an unseen faith