The night she was killed, she was but a girl of 13.
Still young and whole.
Unblemished by that insistence that all fade with time.
Fresh flowers went unnoticed around her.
Guarded night and day, joined by her father's snakes wherever she went.
Wandering the passages of her entitlement bare-foot and weightless.
She'd be gawked at if she tried that outside the blissful permission granted by.
Her father's hold over the world.
Tragically from their perspective only.
Song stood as worthy challenge to Venom's potency.
Easier to apply and effortless to spread.
Once inside it charted course across territory wearing clothes from all cultures.
Puppets of such quantity couldn't be bitten into submission quick enough.
To stem the tide of red they'd set into crashing motion.