She came to me torn and helpless holding the relics that made up her life.
I found her damaged in the dark in a dress of white.
I reach for her only to feel the air cold, harsh and unwilling to twine.
She holds out numbers for me to decipher, and I hold court in my own mind.
As the Moon sneers at me, I find myself sinking in her charm.
She turns to me and says to me " It is you, I long to harm ".
Transparent as my fears she is now floating down the path in which I found her.
Is it just a dream, no I fear she speaks the truth or so I tend to ponder.
She longs to kill me, for I am her brother.
And her brother has killed her for her lover. - Sinister
http://tinyurl.com/sinister-arts