Blood splatters the wall as I crumple her skull.
I stop a moment to observe the haul.
Not much of use really, the children were too small.
Still, the bones would draw a few rituals before they ran out.
And their mother here would make for a great flesh sacrifice.
The husbands cries of anguish would help shrug off the personal cost.
Yes, I would say one more family tonight.
Then I can take that virgin, and split her skull.
Draw the rituals complicated circles, and summon the long dead to serve me.
How I hope this is worth it...
Cracking her skull, drawing the blood.
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Filling the well, still nearly empty.
Plenty of children, not nearly enough hate.
Still it requires more, innocent and pure.
What have I done, what am I to become?
Cracking his skull, drawing the blood.
He looks like my son.
He looks so afraid.
Asks me "where is my mommy."
I look to the side, her face still ashine.
I hear a voice say "Shut your trap little pig."
Was that me?
What have I done?
The corpses are aplenty, piled high next to the well.
It is almost full, the blood stinks.
With his blood it will glow, and give me my things.
But what have I done, he looks like my son.
I sit on the throne.
Just above the well.
Gone is his face, but not from my mind.
What have I done?
What have I become?
The dead beg for my command.
They search for their dark promise.
I already killed so many.
What is the purpose?
I observe their slaughter.
My eyes glazed.
The dead they dig the livings grave.
Jealous of their breath, they take it away.
It is my doing, my fault they are here.
I killed so many, the innocent I fear.
I don't feel in control, I don't feel the benefit.
Why am I alive?
I see his face.
He questions the dead.
I bring the blade closer to my throat.
He begs me to stop.
"Why" I ask.
"Repent" he said.
"How" I retort.
"Now" he replies.
I cast the knife aside.
The dead come asking for more.
I deny them, they are empty.
I am strong.
I am sorry.
You are gone.