Drip.

Drop.

Drip,

drop.

Drops,

of blood,

find their homes,

in the marble white,

tiles.

Falling,

from her life-less arm,

that hangs over the edge.

Once clear water,

now crimson red.

Flickering candle light,

illuminates,

her once beautiful face.

Her once rosy cheeks,

now a grey hue.

Her flowing black hair,

which once danced in the water,

now sticks to her,

chilled neck and chest.

Finally,

the voices,

can’t hurt her anymore.