They surround her in white whips.
The souls that could not leave.
They're the souls that could leave in peace.
They haunt, and they follow, and they laugh.
She carries on her path as if they did not appear ignoring their laughter and tauntings.
They show bright in contrast to the dark trees of the forest.
She wonders, Shall i keep them?
They laugh and she waves them away.
'No white, no white,' they chant. 'No white for the unpure bride. All white, all white, all white for the unpure groom.' They chant in unison filling the open moonlit air with their eerie voices. 'The lies he told, breaking hearts everyday, just like our poor bride, who had him done away.' They sing with smiles.
They spin around her waiting for her to cry.
They saw no tears, She's weak, they thought. She's close.
I was no hero.
I was guilt racked.
I could lose myself to their games.
No tears, I told myself, crying is a weakness.