The Widow near the windowsill spins her web.
An intricate silhouette of meaningless patterns
prolongs the avoidance of what she refuses to face.

A life long lost.
The unsuspecting prey become entangled in her web.
The venom leaks from the Widow's pores,
and the victims watch as she poisons the atmosphere.
It isn't until the 'What If's' drive her mad that she realizes,
there are no 'What If's'.

There's only 'What Is'.
A Widow's venom is meant to paralyze its victims,
but this time she only has enough to keep herself numb.
The cobwebs have all been swept away.
All that’s left for the widow to face is the emptiness.
She'll never get over it,

but she will get used to it.