This is short. But I can't make it longer. And I really just didn't feel like doing some Cheesy piece about how someone had lost their innocence a long time ago.
And yes, I am proud of the poem.
CC?
~O~
Innocence.
As white and pure as snow.
But snow can be stained with red.
Droplets dripping down from a bloody blade.
Splashing the snowflakes lying on the ground.
Look around the empty glade.
And all is over without a sound.
Isabel had always been insane.
It was merely a matter of her acting skills.
And Isabel was a Vesper.