He stood over shambling souls, his skin falling from his flesh
I could feel the daunting grip of death exude from his breath.
Steadily he held his gaze, carrying countless years of waste;
All the life he had had to taste lay at his feet, disgraced.
I could feel a shiver snake, sneakily down my fragile spine,
And my bones became flimsy as they slowly jellified.
In the presence of the lord of flies, maggots penetrate your mind.
Eating membrane and shades of grey, ******* your sanity behind.
Memories turn into feces rotting in your hollow head;
For even death needs a ruler, and rule the dead he did.
He flashed a wormy grin and bled from his mouth,
Joyfully announcing that I’ve stepped into my grave,
Woefully denouncing me as his eternal slave,
His words squirmed through decaying brain;
Though wounded, my bravery was not slain
For beside him grew roses on a porcelain face.
If he controlled the dead, she must own their hearts and souls
A glance into her eyes caused a fluttering amongst my own,
I could almost feel them leave as ghosts to her haunting beauty.
Foreign myths place names to such a woman; Macaria, Persephone
Mistress of blessedness, cursed to Death's grip; his unwilling queen.
I held my sword and braced, my heart raced before my feet
Ignoring the fear that demanded I heed, to smite the Draugr King.
-SLuR