The
holy sage chants; fire robes a star
Zor
strides in snow; his feet trail soot.
A
maid bleeds light; ash mars her train
the
witch king sneers as puce gas coils
and
storms her mind to aid his plot.
The
high slave fades in halls of grace
Zor's
pure mask rips; iron stabs a lord.
That
fell scene dies; bones thud on tiles
for
man's blest gift is blitzed by grief.
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