Crowvane
The dog barks because the wind howls between the trees, eyes appear and the pet pretends to be dead, and the werewolf marches of heavy and monstrous steps. Sleeves shreds and torn with slacks short and faded a man tells a story, in the window many drink and sing thin tales of dark veils, and thru the glass the monster rages and drinks and sings again. The bodies steaming breath from rips and ravage, lifeless cooling dead beside a fire growing on the walls, the hardened husk around them dries in rivers of blood. They leap thru burning windows and break thru charred fires and dust, clouds fall from the ground to reach the full moon, here the trees pretend to sleep hiding from their terrible treachury unbound. Covered in charcoal and doused with the ground covering fog, rejoining unto another pack their gathering amasses hungry ravenous crows, as rooks and ravens perch on the nearby castle without windows or watch. Beasts race and claw the heavy doors tearing paws with claws and splinters dangerous and tearing thru, clawing into the granite and climbing the wall the crows abandon where hope is only haunting, there are shadows making whispers and a cauldron burning hot. Within the floors are seamless shining both silver and black obsidian, paintings of people sleeping and mirrors that give no reflections confound the dreamers and lose the light, into the courtyard crippled trees and black apples around a velvet carpet plot. There is a cauldron dank and quiet by a throne of oaken stock, there is a table drawn for feasting of a single whiteoak block, and a spear thrown in the wall as an antiquated clock. Many snakes are in this orchard under chaos and the moon, blood is anger eyes are searching for the vampire deigned to haunt them as death in blume, who is gone but not forgotten until the break of day resume.