Born of frost, in winter’s breath,
Her fate entwined with silent death.
A river ran in crimson streams,
Her mother’s wail, a fractured dream.

The forest claimed her as its own,
A shadowed child, lost, alone.
With foxes burrowing, berries sweet,
And shattered shells at small, bare feet.

Her world, a kingdom vast and wild,
A wraith she grew, the forest’s child.
Candles lit in pinecone glow,
Companions through the biting snow.

Yet love, the cruel and gracious thorn,
Pierced her heart, her soul forlorn.
Betrayed by promises, starlit lies,
A future lost in shadowed skies.

Veins of lapis, raven's beaks,
Mark her skin with wisdom’s streaks.
The moon, her mother, pulls the tide,
While stars like puppeteers preside.

Her hands, they grind the herbs of night,
Awaiting dreams that bring no light.
Ivy whispers beneath the frost,
The snow mutters of all she’s lost.

In the stillness of the winter’s hue,
A wraith remains, both old and new.
Her fate, her sorrow, her tale untold,
A heart of ash, a soul of cold.