heart of stone, cold as ice, in her well kept fortress she bides. beneath the railings, madness stirs, burning red.  from its deposits, nutrients flow and the garden grows. flowers bloom. some carry nectar, others sweet poison, soothing lovers to dream. 

when midnight comes, birds can be heard, echoing through empty hollow hallways. mysterious doors beckon visitors. some lead to strange new lands, some are just empty rooms, and some may devour you whole. the front gate remains open. those who enter are rarely seen again. 

"From my rotting body, flowers shall grow, and I am in them, and that is eternity." - Edvard Munch