I found it to have been a charming tale,
Of loves true yet false,
Sadly, akin
To many other tales of woe,
want, and worship.
They knew not the girls,
Only their own perception of them.
Ideas,
Imagined habits, nervous ticks, and quirks.
They loved them.
For what they represented,
Everything they thought those gals
embodied.
The self-immolation of these sisters
shocked, haunted, and confused them.
As they had never expected it,
The girls they knew,
The ones they had invented,
Never would have done those things,
Except on accident.
Jumping with the expectation of taking flight,
Not with the intent of plummeting downward in a spiral of sadness
Only to escape their clandestine Hell.
