I have crowded upon thine city, marching your dead inside my ranks. The darkness has never wandered yet so far as now, whence I came and lay claim to thus. Souls are not itinerant whilst I remain, here inside its womb. I forbear to tell of me and my castle, hurried beyond these sights unto my mysterious brood. Her highness sings the moon and our boon, and thence has life in our very unnatural dogma been threaded. As soon as there’s nothing left to tell and we’re stilled at once, perpetual.
Therein has left my gravity and consciousness suspect; which is how my flesh appears to have never been at all.
For now I wake herein my vastness called my dread. The nightmares accompany my torpor until they’ve become a part of me. Fear has already slaked me where Whom has said it’s blood alone will sustain us, though I am not fooled.
I am sordid, forlorn of hope as I allow my morals to weep as though I had none. Torture over mine reflection creeps below my spine and hugs my ribcage, hind my still organs.
What is eternity wrought in defining this, a spiteful apprehension? It has won before my claws upon her back, lying where I’d broken.
I convey these waves of sorrow at great cost, confined within my distance. Herein my most intimate darkness I hold the beast, and longer it becomes me.
