Within a shell of ice a heart resides all cool and blue and stable of might with constant attention to make it nice, with spit and polish till narry a worry brought forth the inner light.

The people who saw fell about in worry with envy on their lips. They picked and they poked but couldn't land a blow. They thought and they fought to brake apart the yoke.

Eventually landing a strike that broke it from whole. Taking a piece they shaped it from true, reforged it a new, it sparked and spangled but turned all red.

In anger in spite it lost its own head, shreaking it pieced all a head. Falling it fell, down it seemed to hell. Trapped within a body a prisam of lead.

Forever and more it's lost to lore, the voyage that once was will never be any more.