Lost within an endless grove,
She saw a house in the husk of dawn.
Once a throne—now where spiders crawl,
Morbid crept in with a hush of scorn.

Gazed upon a golden door, no key or bell to ring,
She knocked and cried through the storms and rain.
On the porch, silence wept of lonely echoes,
With a breath of sorrow gazed in the shadows

Storms had passed, and the rain had stopped,
She stepped out, numb and exiled of hope.
But looked back for a glow—a flickering light,
That called her back, a comfort in the night.

Creaks and squeaks echoed from the door,
Whispering, the key is her—and nothing more.
The door gave in, like a wolf when it’s laid,
For she stood where others fled, knelt when others preyed.

She saw halls—painted anew, warm and bright,
Drifting tunes, smooth and slow, all through night.
Yet felt something wrong—a wretched scent,
An ancient breath with a rage that never bent.

She didn’t fathom why the house was cleaned,
That it was for her—so she would be pleased.
An ache to know what lay beneath bright halls,
She tore them down—the gold-draped walls.

She stripped the paint—the perfect lie,
Exposed the red he’d sealed inside.
And blood pooled thick beneath her feet,
Dressed in rage no smile could cheat.

Sorrow leaked from every stair,
A heart long rotted in despair.
Thoughts of fleeing crossed her mind,
Yet chained in guilt—for love she bore inside.

Unyielding, she picked every piece of decay,
Shaping them back together like clay.
She painted over the void and rue,
Till her hands bled—yet stuck like glue.

A menacing voice howled within the walls,
Shunning her from pain before she falls.
For all her love still couldn’t repair,
What lay in patches, too worn to bear.

- Niko Randeni