Aged gargoyles, now bluish black, perch unmoved despite the wind. Stones do not creak. The mighty bells sway, but the gongs are silent.
Whisper, whisper once more the last of hell’s gates, the dominion door.
Piercing, the screech ascends as a wight exhumed from death. Its billow of smoke trailing the eastern end. The bells are silent. The door is shut. But none who walks attends the omen. As such things are defamed when secrecy is breached. Fate’s witness peers over the latched smoky window. What once was and what will be have split. The horizon bleeds purple. The door is shut but the latches rattle.
No longer bound the omen flights pursues to gain the victim. The gale is stroked.
Whisper, whisper once more the last of hell’s gates, the dominion door.
Piercing, the screech ascends as a wight exhumed from death. Its billow of smoke trailing the eastern end. The bells are silent. The door is shut. But none who walks attends the omen. As such things are defamed when secrecy is breached. Fate’s witness peers over the latched smoky window. What once was and what will be have split. The horizon bleeds purple. The door is shut but the latches rattle.
No longer bound the omen flights pursues to gain the victim. The gale is stroked.
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