The magic died far too quickly.

Extinguished, like her spirit
That harbored a momentary hope
She would finally be free
From her prison.

Each day, she tried and tried,
Each time failing, magic spluttering
Until she changed the way
She channeled magic,

No longer summoning power
From the air and the ground,
But instead, taking
Her tears and her rage

Into her hands
And slamming them
Onto the lock
That held her captive.

It dissipated like dust,
Like her anger,
Now displaced
With a plan of escape

And dark, satisfying revenge.