She delved in white,
     something so pure that was seamless
as though nothing could contaminate
          what was enthral in looks.

But beneath  the demure
  was a weapon pointing
                          at others hearts.
Onyx points, seeping with abhorrence.
showing that there was more than
                      her false pretences.

If a wolf has a blood lust it was her,
                  velvet soft, but blood seeps
beneath even the purest of looks..
                                     And hers was bile.

She stand there like a light in the woods
             of loneliness, but get to close
and her arrow will pierce even the most
                                                    loving heart.

Hear her white noise confusing the reality
         of a loving heart.
Bleeding it dry,
                    till only a corpse
of white lays before her. And she smiles...