The
halo king weaves a cape of spells
to
wrap his bride in mist and gales
that
hurl the maid on lands once fair.
As
vast pits heave they fire hot slime
the
elf pours blood and prays for grace.
A
voice chants hymns; it clots her fear
she
seeks her Love but nine heads rise.
Their
fumes rip lungs; crows tear at flesh
The
vile king cheers his shift of form.
