Alone she sits;
Alone she stays
And alone
With her only memories.
In the deep cell of the number 3
Silence plays as her only friend.
Stillness smiles its calm around her
Within the cell of the number 3.
The walls smooth and dark,
The floor cold and cobbled,
Straight a lack and empty,
Like the thoughts she struggles with.
Thoughts of past and future,
But never
Of the present.
Her once crimson,
woolen riding dress,
Plain and faded of age,
Seems dulled by the despondent still
Of the cell of the number 3.
Only silence answers he cries,
Her mutterings,
Her curses,
Off the cell of the number 3.
One memory comes to mind
For her.
One of past that sparks a smile small,
Soft and not enough
To touch her eyes.
Her Guardian of a world
Lost within the Ages;
A Guardian long in mortal death.
Her only friend,
Her Warder and Gaidin,
Her Brother to Battle,
Is a soft memory of retrospect.
Alone she is herself
Within the cell of the number 3.

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