Two parents dead, one uncle, liar,

Danced around the funeral pyre.

The heat, extreme, affected him,

But she, the niece, young and slim,

Would not look into the flame.

Time stood still, she knew the blame

Lay with her uncle, tall and sly,

He had meant for them to die.

But life went on, the young girl grew,

She learnt to live like me and you.

Mixed blood and ingenuity,

Led to immortality.

Her parents, bodies burnt by fire,

Helped her gain her heart’s desire.

Our young Slayer, supple and strong,

Used her blood to get a long.

Quarterling, most people cried,

Without her help, they would have died.

The burning in her eyes was fire,

The remnants of a funeral pyre.