The Ballard Of Madame Bloe

These words to secrecy one was sworn,
For denied is the truth from where they were born.

Cold was the night and bitter was the air,
Flushed were her cheeks and swept was her hair.

With a soul emptied behind the glare of her eyes,
Her face masked by a cruel disguise.

Tight was the grip that clung at her side.
Steady and resolute was her deceiving stride.

Calm was her breathing as she narrowed in.
Dry were her palms, yet warm was her skin.

A quirk smile and a splatter of blood.
A brief silence, then a chilling thud.

Her hand grasping still the knife that she used to deliver
Death, as she toppled the body into the river.

Never again heard of was this girl for whom revenge was sweet,
Because for her escape and exile she was swift on her feet.

That is all I dare speak and know,
Of the Ballard of Madame Bloe.