• Haranguing false hallows, fate clutched to the gallows, where torture’d begin to conspire.
    laughing devils in masks howled beneath dead stars loud at the flames aft , and waited for the
    heat to lick limbs. Sweating and struggling, and trying to flee, blood sticking and bubbling
    through gnashing of teeth. “Eternus poena elatum!” They shouted, with crooked mouths wrent
    agape. The prince smiled and grinned, as wine dripped off his chin, and onto the cracked molten
    ground. “You would beg me for mercy and cry out that you might be saved? Your salvation is in
    your silence. The one of you to be first to scream will be loosed of their limbs.” He cried with a
    laugh and caught up his carafe and became drunk on the thoughts of himself. He watched as they squirmed, and twisted and turned, until one of them let out a soul-curdling cry of agony. The
    prince stood up and pointed, though finger disjointed, his minions knew just who he meant. So
    up with the knives! and scissors! and pliers! take calipers! tongs! all assortments of things. Here
    one can’t hear the screaming, and no one will come to your aid. Madness is just a state of being,
    or being is a state of madness. I haven’t decided which. Mostly likely it’s both, so you’re crazy!
    I know, but it’s ok. That’s a lot to take in. The prince smiles and laughs, as is his phantom
    demeanor, his murder of ravens take fugue. For each one is a raven, a wretched soul, a craven.
    Each one, each bird, is you.