The cold chill of a late autumn eve spills from moonlit clouds,
Casting shadows upon the village below.
The windows are shut tight, a warm hearth burning within,
Safely hidden away from the night.
Down one abandoned alley stands a lone red door,
Worn and scarred, mended and loved.
Upon it, one window stands open, waiting.
Beyond the red door she sits,
Gently rocking,
Her legs crossed upon the dusty stone floor.
Beyond the red door she waits,
Her head bent forward in contemplation,
Raven hair draped upon her shoulders.
Beyond the red door she dreams,
Her vision filled with shades of grey and crimson,
Her mind drifting high above.
Noiseless and unseen it creeps beyond the sill,
Slipping past Enochian wards
Each glowing faintly in its wake.
Her hair begins to stir,
Shadows dancing between the light.
A gentle kiss upon her neck,
The scent of decay fills her lungs.
Skin trembles, muscles tense
Is this what was promised?
Pain flashes as the Dream crumbles,
Her mind cast back within its mortal shell.
Her eyes flash wide, rolling white, then black,
then brilliant green.
“It’s here.” she whispers, her breath turned to steam.
Just beyond perception something stirs, deep within the Fade.
