Her voice was poetic, such a bard may be
From my half drunk haze, I wandered
Looking up, she wasn't much a girl

She was tugging at sleeves, begging a scrap
A tale she spoke, of tears and madness
Bending any ear, that a bit might try

Throughout the night I puzzled, pieces
Of stricken towns, all easterly
Her father sickened, a cousin liken

The story beg curious, draining my enibe
Time wandered, much as patrons do
The little girl was found, by my side

Tossing her gold, she began
But to my sober eyes, she cringed
For her story, more than passing;

(She began)

Of her life, when cornered
I wanted it in whole, not beggary
Heir to dirt, spoken in small words

It was true, witnessed event
Beyond her small mind, driven slightly mad
The story twisted, tangents borne by emotions

It crept through the village, she lived
Affecting old and young, alike
A plague of the mind, before the body

Those slim recovered, as she was one
Say nightmarish creature, devoured the sea
Looming and tentacled, shelled crowned but flesh

Pillaged her mind, linking to others
Voice minds so loud, drowning her screams
Others clawing, burning their ears; carving flesh

Murderous intentions, toward husbands and wives
Children flailing, glimpsing lives to come
Wailing, the chaotic violence of the flesh

Slowly at first, the story was drawn
In her little voice, lost its pan
Confession came, through her tears

Sins not yet committed, a life hers to be
Memories of pain, unbroken fate
Suffrage of life, before ones age

I sipped rough mead, ordered food for her tale
Half listening to story, feeling the looming
A creature seeing us, omniscient from her eyes

She went on for hours, spent
Others draped, across table and chair
Unconscious from sleep, or dark in drink

On and on, the story unfolded
This shadowy entity, closer for sure
It's name unspoken, but knowing me here

The key (she said), it needed a door
It said, spokeless to her mind
And the tale, must be told