She paces down the coastline.

Her dress drags through the foam.

And to the sea she adds her tears,

as she searches for a home.

Still she scans the horizon,

though her eyes no longer see.

Her fingers rest against her chest,

and in their grip, a key.

A faded cloth that clings upon

the hair that once was gold,

cruelly whips about her face.

Her blood flies 'cross its folds.

It drips upon the ragged dress,

that now shares battle's hue.

Through rain and wind she wanders on:

her fairy tale come true.