Grim was her mood as she storms about,
Fetid feelings abound.
Her secrets kept none to confide in,
Her love scorn her affections,
Leaving her with a derelict affliction.
Fetid feelings abound.
Her secrets kept none to confide in,
Her love scorn her affections,
Leaving her with a derelict affliction.
Cursed among maidens,
Her future was bleak and barren,
Like all that came before her.
She was a spinster of no worth—
The dark took interest.
Her future was bleak and barren,
Like all that came before her.
She was a spinster of no worth—
The dark took interest.
And summoned her behind the scenes,
It whispered unholy things to her ears.
Upon my honor your suitor will be yours,
With a promise to deliver your firstborn son,
She carefully weighed the request—
It whispered unholy things to her ears.
Upon my honor your suitor will be yours,
With a promise to deliver your firstborn son,
She carefully weighed the request—
And reasoned without this offer,
There would be no blessing,
So, with fretted brow, she behest.
Trembling inside herself with guilt,
Her first son to belong to the devil.
So, with fretted brow, she behest.
Trembling inside herself with guilt,
Her first son to belong to the devil.
Grim as a raven’s midnight call,
She paced where shadows sprawl—
Fetid air, a heart’s decay,
Love’s corpse left cold to lay,
No ear to catch her whispered sins.
She paced where shadows sprawl—
Fetid air, a heart’s decay,
Love’s corpse left cold to lay,
No ear to catch her whispered sins.
No hearth to take her in,
A spinster’s fate, the village sneered,
Her worth in dust appeared.
Then came the Dark—not friend, nor guest—
A hiss through bone and breast:
A spinster’s fate, the village sneered,
Her worth in dust appeared.
Then came the Dark—not friend, nor guest—
A hiss through bone and breast:
“Upon my honor, bleak and sworn,
Your bed shall not be torn.
But mark the price, my hollow bride:
The firstborn son denied.”
She weighed the curse, the barren years.
Your bed shall not be torn.
But mark the price, my hollow bride:
The firstborn son denied.”
She weighed the curse, the barren years.
The well of salted tears,
What choice had she but claws or chains?
The Dark drinks what remains.
With trembling hand and soul undone,
What choice had she but claws or chains?
The Dark drinks what remains.
With trembling hand and soul undone,
She kissed the devil’s thumb.
The pact was sealed in blood and dread—
A cradle built for the dead.
A cradle built for the dead.
hello dearest Adagio you out did yourself on this one thank you for letting me a part❤️
I think we done good, Brenda.
Hauntingly penned, Adagio & Brenda. Excellent collaboration you two. Appreciate you, both.
Damian
Thank you, Damian.