Why must thou be the one who bears the knife stained with the blood of mine own?
How can it be that when I reach for thy hand, mine touches cold skin and my gaze is met with thine- eyes frigid as the flesh of thy fingers?
Why must it be thou, sister, who has betrayed me so?
Thou who once embraced me with heart so kind and warm it could melt the iciest of souls.
I fear that thine heart has been trapped in a prison of the Arctic, never to escape.
Why must it be thou, sister, who has been trapped behind such horrid, frozen bars?