Dressed in white, with nothing left to fight.
Wings of lies drape her shoulders, like giant boulders.
An arrow in her hand, blind fold in the other. Connecting to one another.
Blood was on her lips where the stiches were, it was unclear of who helped her.
The walls painted with victorian style art, on that wall in a cage was a heart.
The floor was see through, underneath were roses with words written in which she knew were true.
A key was to be found, before the angel was crowned.