Through the cave she glides, torchlight abating the damp darkness.
Crimson laps at her feet, the viscous carpet rolled from the perforated
bodies of the plaguing dead.
'Sister, won't you converse with me?' she croons to the pitted door.
Seven gates to Ereshkigal's domain, she trots with careless abandon!
At each gate she discards a piece of her ensemble, shedding her power, dying inside.
a the nadir of her descent, she remains clad solely in skin and self importance.
'Goddess of war, Guardian of fools. You have reached to far' the dark hisses as she dies.
