Sitting hidden in my fairy-tail coach,
On the road through the cut throat’s forest.
Bejeweled and draped in taffeta and velvet.
My coach trundles on through the darkness.
Over a river we go now,
I can hear it’s waters whispering.
Falling and sighing with the grace of a Princess sleeping,
Calling the names of those carefree children,
Who play by the bank in the summer.
But I see the tendrils of Mist,
Winding her cold wet fingers over the sweet cut grasses.
And all the while, we trundle on,
Through the pitch black darkness.
I hear the sounds so shrill now,
Emanating from the Midnight Ballroom.
A fairty-tail dance full of fairy-tail creatures,
Wishing away their immortal existence.
But before we reach there,
My traveling companion,
The dark man in the mask.
Well he leans forward and touches my wrist now,
His skin as cold as glass.
And with a rata-tat-tat on the roof,
We veer off of the path,
and with a sharp sense of foreboding,
I clutch at my velveteen scarf.
He hides his face in the shadows,
But I feel my skin crawl as he leers.
His lips drawing back over crystal sharp things of fear.
You can smell the death on his old black cloak.
It swarms like flies about him.
Shrouding us in darkness,
He extinguishes the faint light.
And I smell the musty stench of his shirt,
As he bites, and bites and bites.
It wouldn’t do to explain the feeling,
Of having your life torn away.
Much like the feeling of breaking ones heart,
But more than a thousand times a day.
Perhaps like a knife wound from the blade of a lover,
Dripping blood from a chest.
Red and precious,
Pure life trickles away...
I smelled my own blood now,
As he drew back.
I stared with unseeing eyes,
At the lascivious man stained red.
Licking his lips on the sly.