She stood, waiting,
Grinning from ear to ear,
her features mirroring mine
her eyes, only darker.
The ambience hung gloom-ridden,
the mirror reflecting the quietest of atrocities,
battling those left unspoken,
her presence steeped in deceit.
“Shall I grant you, victories
and desires you dare name?”
Her words struck like thunder-
the voice of despondency.
This immoral aura lingered,
yet I did not yield,
for angels win battles
and tempt collapses like petals- those of a dead petunia.
My eyes spoke more than words,
her eyes grew dimmer.
Mirrors narrate all kinds of deceiving tales,
yet the fables within remain in its truest forms.
