Ella Is The First Rider

Ella is the first rider. Margaret is the last. The night is
 as black as a miner. Stars are spun like glass. Elephants 
and birds, tattooed beneath her shirt.
Relics from her time in Asia Minor. Ella is the first 
rider, cold and pale as chalk. The bones of her face are 
aligning underneath the oaks. She sees men as skin and 
bones, with hearts in the shape of stones, perpetrators of 
some terrible vision. Ella is the first rider. Her mouth is
 so severe. The fierce little jaws of a lizard are dangling
 from her ear. And her every freezing breath is drawn from 
the mouth of death. And her every little whisper is a 
murder.