Her eyes were like pools of crimson red blood,
Even the Death shall glare into their beauty.
Her skin was like the snow unstained by mud;
People said she was a broken cutie.
Her voice was the whisper of a stranger,
Like the organ of a graceful angel.
People said she was the kind of danger;
And she was a lady that was baneful.
Her hair was the colour of a great flame;
Some say it was the same texture of cloth.
It was the same beauty as her true name,
Some say she was from a witches' mad broth.
In truth she was in fact just a sad belle,
When she lived in such a frightful pale hell.
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