Her Wrath

She could feel the scarlet tinge consuming her pallid face and taste the bitter residue of disdain. Like a waif lost in winter’s icy palm, she shivered. Her scattered curls of raven’s breast shook first with frustration, then twice as liquid madness filled her veins. ¬†And at last, her eyelids lifted, long lashes licking the sky, and all who stood within her magnificent gaze, were left a smoldering heap of ash.

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