Red on pure white snow
Small figure, that will never grow
Porcelain skin, like a doll
One too young, to hear death's call

An angel hidden in a mortal's garb
Thus able to fall to low death's barb
Her crystal voice, silenced now
Trapped forever in an unbroken vow

Some believe they see her still
But perhaps is born of desperate will
Faded and gray may her steps haunt
Death's dominance will still flaunt


A/N: I was watching Mists of Avalon, this came of that.