Thin silver rays penetrate the darkness that has fallen upon the city,
A white blanket of fresh snow purifies the dank streets.
One lone still house breaks the building laden horizon,
Silken strands the color of the sun rays frame a face the color of the falling snow.
With the wave of a gloved hand, the snow beneath the figure's feet turns red.
A scream sounds, but the figure hears the scream of another.
Death lays all around, but she sees the death of loved ones long gone.
She is not touched by the hell that surrounds her,
For she lives in her own private one.