There comes a time of year
When the grand bargain begins,
Not on the streets filled with vitality,
But in the shadows of the necropolis.
That time when the Four O’Clock flower breaks,
Shattered glass strewn across morality,
Violins echoing through chrysanthemums—
An entire ballad of the false prophets.
And in such a dreadful realm,
The White Dahlia enters with petals shrinking,
Trembling as the winds begin to embrace her.
Two pairs of eyes seize her gaze:
One’s Deadly Nightshade, the other’s Devil’s Hand.
One is there to devour her soul;
The other to protect and shield her.
Unfortunately, all entities wear masks.
What gleams is venom,
What offers refuge seems lethal.
The first waltz with the broken, virtuous entity
Unfolds in darkness,
Flowers shivering in the aura that surrounds him.
Warnings drip from his affection;
Her vitality seeps into his mask.
The long, agonizing sway ends in tears.
The second dance with the wicked one
Casts beams of pearly light across the floor,
Flickers of hope and sparks tangled in mysterious smiles.
Tiny, precise steps lure her core into an abyss.
She blooms once more—
Only to be severed again with the final sigh of her stamina.
What happened to them, you might ask?
Devil’s Hand betrays his loving core, vanishing into
obscurity.
White Dahlia, dripping tears of blood, continues to bloom
—
Brighter, fiercer than ever.
Deadly Nightshade aches still,
Hunting those ruby tears with insatiable hunger.
One astray, one reaching the focal point, one hollow within
its own elegance.
Oct 25, 2025
Oct 25, 2025 at 7:28 AM UTC
There comes a time of year
When the grand bargain begins,
Not on the streets filled with vitality,
But in the shadows of the necropolis.
That time when the Four O’Clock flower breaks,
Shattered glass strewn across morality,
Violins echoing through chrysanthemums—
An entire ballad of the false prophets.
And in such a dreadful realm,
The White Dahlia enters with petals shrinking,
Trembling as the winds begin to embrace her.
Two pairs of eyes seize her gaze:
One’s Deadly Nightshade, the other’s Devil’s Hand.
One is there to devour her soul;
The other to protect and shield her.
Unfortunately, all entities wear masks.
What gleams is venom,
What offers refuge seems lethal.
The first waltz with the broken, virtuous entity
Unfolds in darkness,
Flowers shivering in the aura that surrounds him.
Warnings drip from his affection;
Her vitality seeps into his mask.
The long, agonizing sway ends in tears.
The second dance with the wicked one
Casts beams of pearly light across the floor,
Flickers of hope and sparks tangled in mysterious smiles.
Tiny, precise steps lure her core into an abyss.
She blooms once more—
Only to be severed again with the final sigh of her stamina.
What happened to them, you might ask?
Devil’s Hand betrays his loving core, vanishing into
obscurity.
White Dahlia, dripping tears of blood, continues to bloom
—
Brighter, fiercer than ever.
Deadly Nightshade aches still,
Hunting those ruby tears with insatiable hunger.
One astray, one reaching the focal point, one hollow within
its own elegance.