15th Century - The Return

Delicate shivers of wispy familiars crowded, overhanging the patient figures

Snug silence fogged them, clinging to their dusky shrouds

Around them a cathedral of trees loomed accusingly as the mist drifted among the withered circle

Howling

Not of human utterance

But a starless tone from the lips of a face

Not of a human face

But a corpse, a bloodless, drained, white demon

Under that, of a hooded mask

May that pleading chant release the burdens of them

Confessors of immoral deeds



Monotonous words cut the night, bearing a deep edge

Hanging perpetually, flooding uncharted passages of your mind

Then stealing away, to the dead branches twisted overhead like wet rope

As a soft blanket, the song cloaked the black-hearted fiends

So that silence be drowned

So that ears be unnerved

So that fickle traitors be chastised

May he who is shrewd, tamper not