Help me. Her cry could be Heard over Hills and Hells, and the cries of Heathens and Harlots and ******. His lips smacked Hard against each other, already tasting Her. His tongue Had already anticipated Her neck, the neck that protects Her voice, the voice that was stolen by cries for Help, over and over and over again He invaded Her body, but crushed Her spirit, and speared Her soul. He didn’t steal Her virtue. He stole Her light. He smothered it with His body, covering every inch. Here is the story of Her and Her daughter and Her daughter’s daughter, and every woman that ever lived.