Nyx.

A twist of fate,
Gilded whispers across the rose hall,
The white roses that bloomed,
Tainted by a single drop of blood.
Winds that bang the glass doors shut.
Whimpers that turn into screams,
Souls which longed for their retribution,
Eager to please their master,
Bind the glimmer of freedom,
That shone through the cracks of destiny. 

Wraiths who scurry for the gifts,
Crows that perch on the pillars,
Scrutinising every creature,
Those who submit shall be the ones to win,
To perish shall those who cheated her.

A soft breeze envelops her scent,
The calming sounds of flapping of wings,
And she enters.
People who rejoiced in hope of a saviour
Spirits who grinned wickedly,
The soft padding of her feet,
As she stops on her path,
To gaze at the darkened roses,
And when she reaches, 
A small brush of her finger,
Collecting the dust on the onyx throne.

Cawing of crows ensues,
Sounds of glee and admiration,
From both the captured and captivated,
Her back against the crowd, 
Facing that cursed wall,
As gasps of shock and terror fill the hall,
She smirks.
The dark wings unfolded,
The throne hummed in approval,
Crowned with an aureole of dark mists,
A soft melodious voice breaches that brings everyone to their knees,
“Bow.”