The veiled one.

The whisperers called and wished for their presence back. As the leap has been made through the rocky edge, the waves delicately embraced the body as It made Its impact. The eye stared one last time. At that top part where the entity used to reside, all hope has been lost, though the smile was perfectly carved with the finest of knives. The wanderer has been tip-toeing the streets humming the sad lullaby. While the merchant of sand stole the souls of those that gave in to the gloomy darkness of the sky. Seven bells have been heard, and their vibration resonates through the shallow and empty streets. Unveiling those who wish not to be seen, ashamed of their own doings, you can almost hear, only If you focus, their sharp and flesh tearing shrieks. The moon dances around, laughing hysterically with blood on her white dress. Echoing, while those who still fear, hide behind their locked door reciting what they think might help them, but sure does less. She still is there, with her bare feet orchestrating the symphony of wailing creatures, moving her arm around. One, last, scream was heard of something unknown that sent shivers in a silent city, where she is queen with no crown. The silence was so loud, you can hear the thousand horrified hearts beating all at once. The veil has fallen, at last. And those who have been cursed one day, resurfaced. Terror was purring at the feet of the old lady knitting a new coat for the night. ''Make it long, make It dark, the silent ones do not wish to see the light''. They run not knowing that doubt is running amongst them all, forgetting that the mind is the biggest enemy and the subconscious have stained their soul. Tortured silence, poor thing is held captive where no one knows. Wishing for some sort of so called Miracle, but we all know, that being is too proud. He promises a beam of some sort, but remains always dimmed, It barely glows. The ones invited up above peak and clap and send their hounds each labeled Misfortune feeding on those that were found. You do want to picture what has been written, trust my word, do not look, If you do, do not make a sound.

The soul eaters and the unholy gathered at the center of the city. Waving to those who dare look, their eyes forced open by that thing they claimed 'mighty'. The little riddles play under the bridge where the king of beggars hides in his quarters. Pulling unseen strings, they get stolen to be sacrificed in his many altars. The songs they sang that night are from the forgotten ones. Those who left, but never came back, Hope waits for them decaying under the seven suns.