Work Text:
She stands on her very own pedestal
At the top of the grand stairs.
Her wings are stretched out,
As if ready to take flight.
She has no eyes, no face, no head.
She’s a sister of Medusa.
I wonder if she can see despite it.
If she knows of her victory
And looks down upon us.
Can she take in her conquest?
Her own pedestal at the top of the stairs?
And why are her wings outstretched?
Is she flying away or above us?
I hope she knows of her victory
And is extending her wings in triumph.
She reminds me of Icarus,
As all winged humanoids do.
But she isn’t foolish,
She doesn’t fly too high.
No, her wings are of feather and flight,
And she can soar.
That’s Victory,
Whether she knows it or not,
Up there on her pedestal,
Looking down upon the world.