running
screaming
hunger
She tears across various rooms
shrieking like any proper banshee
for what She has really lost

wood splinters
stone cracks
flames lick streaks in Her mane before dying
as She ramapages across each hidden nook
burning-coal eyes looking for more
any words to bring Her closer
offer any presence
or comfort

Her aching heart, feeling poisoned
puts itself in a clumsy pile

each detail around Her, focused and clear
sharp and bleak
a tragedy seen for the first time

so She piles little journals
right
where
She
can
see
them
a neat little stack in a glowing cloud of fool's gold
each written in runes none can read
and even She stumbled through
Hers and the shadow's
brought to life in details
that redefine haunting
a clarity
that hurts
worse than any cut

still, this is one search She won't give up on
at least not yet
She checks every filthy, dusty, dirty crevice
inspects each disgusting closet
opens hidden, unmarked, improper book
that had belonged to the one still believed to be
a sage of the ages
and who could only be proved otherwise
at the cost of so much privacy
even though none would believe Her
despite the speaker
all that happened here was better left unsaid
so not a word would escape Her

She, the mighty goddess
in rumor only
steps up from the unfitting floor
where She had currently searched
a small room with a broken fireplace
She knocks a brick aside, where
it falls from its worn and tedious perch
revealing
a stash of tattered diaries

whatever momentary relief She had
upon finding such tattered treasures
was destroyed
when She saw that the writing wasn't hers
but She takes them anyway
despite their uselessness
a mere servants scribblings
would offer Her no peace