A woman in a cloak with floral cut lace, shadows casting from her flame-lit soul, one eye showing; said you would run away, love deeply, and hang any fool who came rapping on your front doorstep without a mind full of brutal mystery and buried antidotes. Your tiny hands failed to grasp the concept of a fake, an emotional intruder, or any type of lie for that matter, so you proceeded.

 

A melody sprang from your throat, a wretched one at best, matching it with words of apprehension and cliché. But no dogmatic woman ever kept the first thing that she loved. So, with blindness and heart, you sounded the tales of hauntings, leaving the townsfolk independently wandering through a dark neighbouring forest, with only the moonlight to guide them home.

 

You were just a child when you jumped into the abyss. From the bottom of the Southern hemisphere to tip of Scotland, you drifted back home once your wild heart and temptation had temporarily been filled. But fickle feet always grow restless. So with cinnamon scented dreams and glacial veins, you ripped the roots of your labour and headed West. 

 

A recluse, a free bird, a lover, and a warrior - the girl never made up her mind.