The Tell-Tale of the Apocalypse

Under an unfeeling moon's icy stare,

Arrived a package, an ominous snare,

Wrapped in the whispers of a time long lost,

Its verses harbored a dark and heavy cost.

She opened the book, her fingers quaking,

"Conquest" it murmured, a future in the making.

Visions of regents to phantom power cowed,

Reading aloud, she watched as kingdoms bowed.

"The first is here, what's been set in motion?"

She uttered, beneath the solar devotion,

News cried out, "One ruler over every sea and hill,"

Lo, the White Rider was exerting his will.

Next was "War," a ghastly dirge,

As she vocalized, blood and iron began to surge.

Battle cries rang out, harmony lost in strife,

And the Red Rider painted the canvas of life.

"Hear the call, it thunders and resounds,"

She breathed, as the earth vibrated with martial sounds,

News echoed, "A world set aflame!"

The crimson warrior advanced in the deadly game.

"Famine," was whispered, an elongated curse,

With each uttered word, the world's pulse grew worse.

Crops wilted, granaries stood bare,

Hunger's ghost danced in the air.

"Feast, world, on your own bitter tears,"

She sighed, tasting the desperation and fears,

Images of starved bodies filled the screen,

The Black Rider feasted upon the scene.

"Death," a requiem of despair,

A portrait of a world beyond repair.

She spoke the words, the world took a final breath,

And fell into the welcoming arms of Death.

"The end has come, let the bells peal,"

She murmured, her heart losing its feel,

No news, no sounds, just a peaceful hush,

The Pale Rider had given the final push.

Four Horsemen stood before her, detached and cold,

As around her, the apocalypse took hold.

A lone echo, her voice in the silent blight,

"Was it I who summoned this endless night?"

Their eyes met hers, empty of pity,

Reflecting the weight of her self-inflicted city.

She stood at the precipice, the maker of the fall,

The reader, the woman, the trigger of it all.