Fallen from Grace

[Levenna]

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Footsteps echo through the hallways of Norfolk, hollow and clear.

A torrent of emotion, a burden, the loss of those she holds dear.

A grey door draws near, a dimly lit room, a Commodore's quarters.

Memories of hellfire and brimstone, of missiles and mortars.

She picks up a picture, a frozen moment in time. A solitary tear runs down her cheek.

Matters of the heart. Two souls entwined. A worthless antique.

She places it in a box, neatly packed away, to be forgotten, to be buried.

She departs, the echoes resume, echoes of tightly-timed, nigh-robotic steps.

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