Here I return with another tale, A story so lush, its beauty like hail, Of innocence once more struck and shattered— A fate she never chose, nor even mattered. Troy once bore a princess of rare finesse, Born in a land of blood and deep distress. Grace shaped her body, keen was her mind— She lit the dark paths, softened the unkind. The sun she worshipped, its light her desire; By night she slept in the temple of fire. Hearing the devotees’ prayers, he came to her— Apollo was pleased, and bestowed his gift there. His gift unveiled each mortal’s destined day; Joy filled her heart, a power time could not sway. But Apollo sought a love she could not decree— She turned him down, and fury woke the mighty he. Salt to the wound, he forged a cruel decree: “Your words be true, yet none shall believe thee.” A curse so sharp it cut deeper than fate— To know the future, but warn it too late. She foresaw Troy’s fall, its doom too soon, Yet none believed—she hardened like the moon. A living statue carved by others’ talk, Cursed by the god whose shadow she’d once walk. Soon Troy fell down, to the rusty sand, Blood shed through the city, corpses clutched by hand. She ran to Athena’s temple, seeking the sky, But Ajax found her, and defiled the sacred high. Justice was later served, Ajax swept away, As Olympians sent a wave to the depths’ sway. Cassandra was taken, a concubine bound, To Mycenae she went, the city once she’d found. The queen of this land slaughtered the two, Betrayed her man, for someone new. She had seen this, yet nothing could she do, All her prophecy buried before the sun’s view. The world turned blind to the truths she knew, Yet in deep shadows, her legacy grew.