Sparkatale

She stands atop a hill with her back towards me

Her crimson locks dance with ease along the amber horizon

Her frail hands mockingly scrape at her side as if to calm an itch

Her head jerks up as she hears me approach

Her sunken eyes find mine with ease as she quickly turns my way

She reaches out to me with one arm revealing an awful wound

Her hair no longer dances; it struggles with each gust of wind to free itself from her

Her face is still familiar although it has aged beyond her years

Her eyes are sunken, her teeth deformed,

Her pigment grayed and sickly

Her face is still familiar; but, she is most definitely gone

She walks aimlessly towards me as I ready up to fire

Her crimson locks fall down to her shoulders

Her pudgy arm still reaches for me

Her bright green eyes become framed by her crooked smile

Her face is flushed and coated with the most innocent of expressions

She takes one last step and in a flash it is all gone

Her face once familiar is now completely gone.