Chapter 13
Thorn – unknown 11134
She is a rose, a cruel blossom in the midnight air,
Her petals stained with the hues of desire.
Thorns sharp as daggers, they beckon.
Each prick, a sacrificial offering, drawing forth blood,
And I, foolish enough, shall bleed for her.
For her beauty, for her poison.
For the cruel, sweet agony she promises.
To some, she is but a fleeting prologue ? —
A whisper of innocence in the face of corruption.
To others, a mournful epilogue,
Where hope has withered beneath the weight of time.
But to me, she is more ? —
A cathedral, dark and unholy,
Its bells tolling the sound of a thousand dying souls,
As I step toward her altar,
Unaware, yet desperate to worship.
She shall be my bride,
Not in the tender glow of white veils ,
But in the twisted shadows,
Where vows are sealed in blood,
And love is the sweetest poison of all.
She will be my wife,
Not as one of the living,
But as the dead,
A haunting presence that will devour me whole,
Until my very bones ache with her touch,
And in my final breath, I shall call her name.
For she is my end,
And my beginning.