He wept as he first beheld the dark heart
Of this empire, sinfully forged from blood!
Before it 'twas as sweet as an angels kiss.
Now swamped with a bitter, biled, flood.

Its cold steal citadels held in moneyed bliss;
Unforgiving glass monstrosities freezing his reflection.
From behind a screen he looked at this world
And he could but weep, for its imagined false perfection's . . .

And into his ear the Beast dist' whisper
"There is nothing here"




Penned by my hand on the 24th of Scarlatan, in the year 293 AF.