Chapter 6: Test

 

Like a dream,

I walk through frost-bitten

Headstones.

 

Winter plagues

With cold and scarcity.

Rumors of civil war rustle.

 

At a crypt, now,

Midnight on a full moon

Lavender glow of magic

From the palm of my left hand

Right palm branded, burns

It’s half-working curse.

 

It cannot stop me.

 

Inside, the smell of flesh

Rotting

Dust settled into thick sheets.

A fresh body with a ticking watch

Gold coins in a pocket –

Leave a few for the ferryman

And go.

 

Loot in hand,

The wife appears, moans

Like a banshee when she sees me,

Thinks I’m a ghost or a robber.

I’m both.

“You devil!” she screams.

 

Run, run, run

To keep the wolves away.