Broken Doll
She should've seen it coming, the blood red eyes and the cold bite of the metal.
She should've seen it coming, but it's too late now, and she's bleeding, bleeding too much.
And then there he is, and he swoops like the vulture that he is, and there's a slight pressure on her frozen lips, light and sweet as an angels, coming from the devil
(And it's so ironic she would've laughed, if not for the breath leaving her in short gasps, and his lips on hers, devouring her like only he could.)
She's dying, and she wishes that he did not leave an imprint on her skin, did not burn her with every touch. Maybe it would be easier, then.
He pulls back, and she smiles, softly, softly. And then she's gone.
(And all that's left is a broken doll and her blood soaked avenger)