The frost creates a crown of jagged glass Upon the temples of a silent queen. She walks where ancient shadows dare to pass, Her heart a battlefield of shades unseen. The silver thorns are biting at her skin, A hidden ache that mirror walls ignore. Beneath the velvet, scars of what has been, A warrior tired of a nameless war. Oh, forest lights, ignite the freezing dark! From jagged peaks, we cast away the plea. When every step is branded with a mark, We burn the path to set the spirit free! The woods are weeping gold upon the snow, A tragic grace, a magic born of pain. Let all the frozen embers learn to glow, And break the sorrow of this winter rain! I see her shadow weaving through the pine, A monarch draped in heavy, hallowed gloom. She refuses to surrender or decline, Though every petal in her garden meets its doom. The fear is but a whisper in her ear, A ghost that trails behind her iron stride. She conquers every moment, every year, With nowhere left for honesty to hide. The weight of crowns, the hollow sound of tides, It pulls the soul to where the silence hides. She screams into the gale—a silent chord, Sharp as the edge of her own wintered sword! Oh, forest lights, ignite the freezing dark! From jagged peaks, we cast away the plea. When every step is branded with a mark, We burn the path to set the spirit free! The woods are weeping gold upon the snow, A tragic grace, a magic born of pain. Let all the frozen embers learn to glow, And break the sorrow of this winter rain! To love—is magic. To bleed—is light. The morning comes to end the longest night.