Please Miss, for me, Sis,

The river appears still, yet it flows under the thinnest of ice, awaiting the gentle touch of the sun. Though the air bares only the coldness and the ground is frozen once more, they glitter with the gift of each nascent ray. It is as if her God ensured there would be hope even on the deepest and most wintry of days, asking her to see the sparks that remain even when the world is frozen. And so the siren choose not to see the blanket of ice but the waters that remain deep and moving, ever onward to join the ocean in its slow yet sure way. That is how she imagined herself, victorious in the nasty arms of fate but if she were to open her eyes, take a deep look inside of her own ice cold carcass she would discover that in fact she was terrified, hanging on the thinest thread of a spider silken web. She was feeling out of control and for a control freak like her, that meant something. The witch trembled within her place; quivering with unseen fear of unheard whispers of demonic turmoil that settled inside of her.