That cool, discouraging facade.

Fires that once blazed in sheer pleasure now tormented under an icy gaze.

A simple touch, both displeasing and offending.

Agony wretches through twisted hearts and cold intellect.

Once screams of adoration, condemned to moans of dissatisfaction.

Wicked wicked sin leads into the mortal tomb.

Whoever thought of hell to be of ice?

Allow one to lie enchanted upon that soft bed.

The curse of true love cast sweetly on hardened hearts.

A castle once majestic now in ruins, weeds caress the rubble, stones cast aside.

Lovely, precious, wonderous, the princess waits.

Only... she wishes never to be kissed.

She wishes to dream fondly of a different life forever.

The desolate sound of silence

Stinging, tingling wires tighten over raw skin.

Heavy gasping, broken sobs.

A curse woven from blood soaked lips.

Finality flashes before the eyes.

Ah, but to die, how satisfying it would be.

That echo.

Both desolate and tenderly painful.

Almost as warm as a fresh wound.

It resounds throughout my life.

A hesistant reminder of past mistakes.

It purrs the poison in my ears.

A desolate figure lost among trees.

Sacred ground unblemished, clean, pure.

The harmonious song of the air. Swirling, twirling, sweeping softly.

Fresh earth, steady and strong. Swells within the heart.

Cool, serene water. Rains down tenderly to those who ask.

Fierce, intense fire. The flames flicker and dance around.

Let those who call upon them, be warned of their power.