Estelle was the warmth of a fireplace Smelled of a book fresh off the shelf She moved with a sort of lithesome grace For she was Light itself. She was a comforting spark But too a passionate fire Determined to illuminate the dark With her voice, strong as a choir. But all of a sudden, her voice was silenced, Her light snuffed out with ease, For a shadowy force of stochastic violence Brought her to her knees. Now, in her place, an empty void, No spark, no light in sight, The shadows had all light destroyed As they spread their blackened blight. But despite the dark's control, And the emptiness of my soul... A spark of orange light Dimly shines through the cold.
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