This poem was the result...
An orange rose rests upon her breast
Just a few shades brighter than her curling hair
A brand is in her hand or is it a blade?
Its shape changes depending on the opponent she faces
An array of would-be warriors and sorcerers confront her
Wearing human and not-so human faces
She accepts their challenges, one by one
Seeing schemes in ruby, russet, or purple eyes.
Even as her own glow with the demon within
What of her own plans as she guards the gate of everyone’s desire?
Shaped long ago when she had a human heart
Determined to recover what was stolen was from her
Never understanding the price of such a quest
Now she’s trapped in a cycle of battles
Compelled to face every challenger who’d pass through the gate
No longer aware of what she’s fighting for.
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