She lays in her room, staring at speckled ceiling
dreaming of fairy tale lands and wizards with beards
gray with age. And she dances upon clouds of
white, blue, pink, green, red, all laced with ribbon
and bows. They tell her false tales of the daring
white knight. They scare her from sleep with grimoires
taken from dark shadows and figures.

She will never sleep in her speckled room, staring
blankly into nothingness. They will take care of that
though, humming arcane lullabies, ones passed on,
verbatim, for generations and generations. Passed on
is her old fears of dark knights and black shadows, and
now, she fears herself the most. The keeper of secrets,
the one to carry the torch. To sing the songs, to dance with
the fae, to cast spells, and to sleep in her speckled room.
Where once, lived a clandestine world, where she once knew all.