---

As the young for which we've come are relieved of consciousness,

we surround the sacred grounds upon which they are laid to rest.

All eyes are peeled for the rise and fall of chests,

all ears forever longing for the sound of their last breath.

At long last, sanguine tides flow forth from the pile of dead,

and the fast that my brothers have endured is at an end.

Before we lap the nectar of this score of heretics,

our queen descends to us and bows to take the first sips.

I marvel at the ruination we inflict

and revel in the stillness which, on this world, we imprint.

Life then birthed of death, risen carcasses.

Their blood steeps pure dark in the belly of our matron,

trapping their souls within a cage of purest hatred.

Their cries are swallowed as the spell's regurgitated,

inspired tongues withering more the desecrated.

The corpses wrench with their faculties invaded

as roots of black take hold in their souls' former spaces.

With the last features blotted from their frozen faces,

I can't help wonder when I'll learn what my own fate is.