by Nick Gisburne
She gathers roots and flowers, sticks and stones,
The scattered, ruined remnants of a war.
A twisted mass of splintered spider bones
No longer hides the Heart it held before.
The Fey believed its light belonged to them.
Constructing seven circles, seven walls,
Between each twisted, intertangled stem,
They stretched their spells, a web of secret scrawls.
Protection for the Scintillating Heart,
The flame of every Fey who ever flew,
Was crushed in moments, trampled, torn apart,
When something found the fortress, something new.
The child forsakes the clearing, bored, annoyed,
But never sees the Heart her steps destroyed.
