Kaylin from Devil's Glen

In the year twenty-forty-one

Lived the daughter of a seventh son

With flowing hair of platinum hue

And amber eyes full of rue

Alone, she walks the halls

Behind her castle’s walls

Amongst the silver statues

Be-robed in various blues

Her beauty shines in the moon’s light

Something about her isn’t quite right

As she stands peering out her windows

Half hidden by the shadows

With her hands clothed in silk

Hoping to see more of her ilk

For she can’t be the last

Knowing the world was so vast

So she waited

Among the figures she hated

Ready to scream

Searching for her dream

Back and forth she paces

Wishing she could go places

A prisoner of the keep

On edge, she doesn’t sleep

Through the corridors she glides

Waiting for the turning of the tides

Holding out for fate

Swallowing her hate

Tired of being alone

She wishes to atone

For a past out of her control

Where once she had a soul

Before it was sold

To a demon of old

For a gift of greed

But the imp did mislead

Instead of fattening her purse

The tradeoff had become a curse

For a witch’s past misdeed

That planted Hex’s seed

That grew an electroplated touch

When she’d asked for riches and such

Now all she did was wait

Hoping the curse would abate

With her riches, she had no happiness

Living only with her loneliness

Against all odds

She prayed to all the gods

For her suffering to end

While through the halls she did wend

With her hand ungloved

She destroyed all that she loved

For the demon had planned

With the maiden’s naked hand

That nothing which was living

Would escape being turned into sterling

After the curse was laid

The price she quickly paid

For rapidly, the citadel’s citizens thinned

More and more, the lass knew she had sinned

Now with no one left

She was completely bereft

She talked to every stone

As she listened to the wind moan

With a heavy heart

She prayed for a fresh start

Barely holding on to her hope

For some type of new dope

Any release

That would bring peace

No matter how short

Stopping is a last resort

In her loneliness, she does stand

As she looks out across the land

She tries to be stoic

As she waits for her dude, most heroic