‘Tis beautiful, the beauty of such a cursed place,
to see this woman bound here, twisted into the roots of this tree,
her naked form quivering as the roots continue to wrap its way around her body,
as intimate as any lover,
over the tops of her breast, her flat pale stomach, gently caressing her cheeks,
it brushes away the tears that the maiden cries,
and her pale gold hair that swirls around her face.
It takes a moment to savor her essence, her pure innocence, and shakes its large golden leafs in acceptance.
The tree of life has accepted the essence of the innocent,
the soul to live,
as it slowly devours her essences, she smiles, and fades away into the tree, to watch and grow with the other maidens before her.
Which is the beauty, the maiden, or the sacrifice, I speak of, nay,
It be the tree of life that contains the innocents of every humans' time.
The large tree that stretches to the sky, plucks the stars, and let the maidens ride, to the heavens above.
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