Spoiled rotten from what she thinks she deserves

Handed over to the someone else to decide her fate

A wanderer, with no family to claim her

So there would be no reward.

She handed a coin to the jailor

Whispered to him “Primum non nocere.”

Then blew a powder in his face.

He fell to the ground, dead

Which couldn’t possibly be blamed on her

Since she was behind bars.

They released her the next day

She uttered “legum servi sumus ut liberi esse possimus” at the guard.

Endless paths take her in so many directions

As if life slips past her too easily.

When she is rested and comfortable one day

A man slips into her house with a sword

As he pushes it into her heart

She whispers

“Non omnis moriar.”

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