The moon an opal,
Watched as the maiden,
Rushed through the forest,
Her steps a vapid beat.
Her armor ridden in gore,
Her sword, rent I'm twain.
Her fair face, now misshapen.
A silver chain, she clutched.
A message, worth the gods themselves.
As the clouds skittered over the moon.
A darkness, followed.
A demon from abysses deep.
Darker than obsidian.
Pursued, the warrior,
For the argentine links.
As the demon gained,
The maiden turned,
She could run no more,
But only fight, as warriors ought to.
So drew her sword did she,
And crouched, in anticipation.
Yet the heartless demon stood,
Awestruck, by its beauty.
Yet the chain did glow,
And the demon swoon,
For none could defy,
The silvered beauty.
Yet the price it took.
Taxed the wielder, too much.
And so fell the warrior,
Her quest incomplete.
Her soul doomed to hell.
And her land, ravaged by destiny.
