Mistress of Death

one woman against an army with rifle in hand
a valiant soldier ready to make her final stand
her long brown hair flowing free
her expression of fierce determination plain for all to see
she cocks her weapon, the bolt slams forward
the sound, a note of battle like a dreaded chord
her enemy charges, confident she stands no chance
but she does not panic, but begins to dance
her movements fluid and her aim heartstoppingly true
each bullet accomplishing what it was meant to do
she flows as graceful as rushing water
as though she were Death's own mortal daughter
her every motion part of a grander plan
to kill and destroy every assailing man 
the army fights hard, but it is all for naught
fore never is this deadly dancer caught
the rattle of her weapon acting as the drops of bass
accentuated greatly by the near peaceful look upon her heavenly face
the minutes go by in horror and chaos grand
the horde around her fulfilling the grim reaper's dark demand
their blood rushing across the verdant ground
carpeting the grass in  pools as thick as the grizzly sound
their death wails echoing across the air
heard only by those either too dead to hear or inured to care
as the last one falls she at last opens her eyes
the gentle green spheres a part of her perfect disguise
for she is a killer, her heart cold as ice
she is the Deathbound Dancer, Mirais