At the strike of midnight,
His blood calls to me.
As we cross the dance floor, our masked eyes ascend.
He must realize who I am,
A whispering voice,
Ordering me toward him.
The glass slipper dissolving into a crimson mess.
His pristine wings are hidden in shadows,
My body begins to quiver.
He takes my hands and embraces me,
Our silhouetted dance…
Is as fake as the smile etched on my mask.
The knife behind my back,
He has no idea.
We lead into his private quarters,
He tears my wretched outfit off.
My knife twitches in my grip now,
The tears streaming down my cheek,
He takes them in his hand and kisses them.
My hand reaches to him in an eternal farewell,
The knife turns to me,
Through stained glass...
The moonlight veils our deadly embrace.