She rubbed her hands and shook her head,
In the dim-lit room where shadows bled.
The weight of the past, a burdened tune,
Settled like mist beneath the moon.

She knew her power, a tempest near,
Yet bore it cloaked in trembling fear.
A shotgun resting in her palm,
A gentle grip, a vengeful calm.

“Don’t worry,” she whispered, her voice a flame,
“I found the love you never could name.
Little gifts in the morning and soft embrace,
No lies hidden in a polished face.”

No masks, no smiles of hollow hues,
For her heart lived honest, pure, and true.
She bore the scars of a past unkind,
But they made her whole, they steeled her mind.

He, who once loomed, a shadow of dread,
Now but a ghost in a story long fled.
Behind closed doors, his venom had crept,
Yet now she ruled where his malice slept.

No longer shamed, no longer small,
She stood as a queen, above it all.
And should he return, his gaze would stray,
For the woman he knew had melted away.

With steady breath, she faced the night,
A sovereign soul, her heart alight.
For those who endure the darkest storm,
Rise anew, their power reborn.