The moon mocks with distilled grace. Its light bleeds through panes of glass to reveal her to Heaven's judgement. She lies upon waves that cannot cleanse her, upon sheets of abandon with devils dancing in deranged circles around her mind.
She is naked save for the remains of ripped vestures of white that once contained all of her purity.
The harlots outside laugh with sardonic voices, the drunkards laugh at the jokes that spike their liquor, and the thieves laugh at their spurious wealth. But they all laugh at her.
She hears the voices of another world and even they speak to dismantle her; to haul her down from her untempered flight on facile wings of wax. Flirtatious voices whisper with the strength of God's divinity but burn with the intent of the Devil.
A cruel air reigns over the room and stifles her in its dominion. She holds a handful of the deluge and her mind is absolved of reality, but she discerns no creases upon her paradise. God's angels observe and bewail her.