A glowing candle in the dark,
an old man sits alone.
Across the dusty table,
there sits an older crone.
“I’ll tell ye of yer fate,” says she,
her eyes aglow and wide.
“I’d like to know if good or bad.”
He sat his chair astride.
She closed her eyes and muttered
at a fast and fevered pitch.
He didn’t see
the demon woman form
behind the witch.
She smiled with a dripping grin,
and stared with hungry eyes
so longingly, she’d come to cause
his dimming soul’s demise.
She pinned his body to the chair
and feasted on his heart.
“Your fate is bad,” the old witch said.
“And that completes your chart.”
She laughed as she got up to leave.
“Enjoy your meal, my dear.”
“Well, why stop now?” the demon said.
“The two of you are here.”
BlackQuill 