Took my blade a beauty, shiny beauty.
Took Snow by her hand and lead her into the forest.

Go for the throat?
Stab her in the back?

She turns.
Eyes a pool of endearment.
Images filtered my mind.
The blade slips from my hands.
I turn.
Words fail me for a moment then I whisper,
“Go. ”

A look of concern.
Toss of her dark locks and into the forest Snow runs.

I turn.
A glint and rustling of leaves
A furry of white crosses my path
A most unfortunate day for it indeed….

My blade drips.
The delicate organ a bundle in my palms.
She’ll be glad.
She wouldn’t have to know
Or my head would be the one to roll.


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