She lay there, silent.

And her eyes had not moved, nor her body quivered.

It was this, in the end, her kindness; her foolishness; her trusting nature.

It was her loyalty that had become her downfall. 

And no prince would come. 

No knight in glistening steel, as metal rusts.

And no man would be fool enough to save a fool. 

And the foolish keep to themselves.

And so she lay, surrounded by only dwarve men;

Men whom she had not know herself, if only by subcriminal means.

This was her doing; as the snake strikes the hand that feeds it, this woman hath reaped what she sown.