by Nick Gisburne
She sees her father, bludgeoned with a gun,
And spits upon the sadist in the chair.
She understands her crime can be undone,
With magic, malice, cleverness, and care.
She searches for a sacrilege, a spell,
A charm, forgotten, buried in a book,
A blasphemy, a dark deceit from Hell,
On which no woman ever dared to look.
The page, too steeped in treason to be turned,
When stealing scraps of evil as child,
Was meaningless until, today, she learned
The secret could be seen by those defiled.
She works to bring his body back to life,
To make him suffer, slowly, with a knife.
