Her crime? Femininity
There, she poured over these pages in the nook of her haven, in the sanctity of the divine.
This child of grace, dignified by virtue, bears the curse of woman - the reviled victim, beta, feeble reality.
The man-demon strips her of her will and guilts her for vile deeds committed on the alter of her innocence.
This wrong's cost she pays with her sanity, her trust, her dreams, her being.
The lover with the black eye and battered pride. She's the infant who slept, daddy's pumpkin, and greeted Dawn with a ruptured hymen.
Her judgement of space and time is flawed, society rules, just to keep justice a delusion.
Her sex, her pestilence.
Evidence? Life as we know it.