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The Serpent Tongue

Mustering what strength remains, hoarse from screeching death
Blood stained, filth encrusted, withering
The husk of evil dwindling to a shell of a human
the feeble creature crawls onwards

In the serpent tongue, chanting back mindlessly into the cold air,
The fog of their breath, the whispers taken crawling through her skin
The Secrets of the black art failed to sustain
The powers of the dark lord reduced

The pentagram in her flesh burns cold, with open wounds she curses her undoing,
Steel slicing her hand, draws no blood,
to join the undying in hell for eternity.

Limply swinging limbs, disoriented and mesmerised by the euphoric touch of mortality’s embrace.

The fog of their breath
The whispers taken crawling through her skin
The Secrets of the black art failed to sustain
The pentagram burns in her flesh, cold, with open wounds she curses.

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