The sound of many genuflecting in fear
fills the temple
as the altar glows
to reveal Hasina,
the ancient one.
Beautiful in robes of indigo
trimmed in lavender,
drafty exclamations at her beauty
echo in the high ceiling.
Tears of joy and excited wonder
spatter the stone floor.
The flock stares in adoration.
She pulls her black dagger
with the silver hilt
set with a glowing sapphire
to catch the departing souls.
Heads bow, and there is only silence
as she descends and walks the aisle,
calling those she deems worthy.
She slaughters them and lets them fall
as they may.
They weep at the honor
of dying at her hand.
Their families and harvests
will be blessed,
even as their souls
are damned.
The glow consumes her
as she leaves,
and the spirits follow
in chains of light.
I yet remain
unworthy of her knife.
Feast well.
BlackQuill 