Sister Dear
I was screaming,
Half my face and all my life
Gone in an instant of searing pain.
And you smiled.
I was sleeping,
Dreaming of a hurried kiss goodbye,
The scent of jasmine and Mother fading.
And you woke me.
Hair immaculate,
Nails like talons,
Madness flickering like genius in your demented eyes.
It isn't luck, it's hate that drives you,
Makes you smile
Makes you laugh.
As you twist kingdoms round your slender finger,
Deal death with your precise hands.
Villainy: Life in Black and Red
I'm waiting.
My armies swarm like ants across the artist-drawn map, and I know what those little drab huddles of people think, who sink beneath the rush of colour, of burnt colours.
They think that I am pursuing them. That the snatching hands of those pitiful, duty-driven fools, so encumbered in armour and innocent blood, are my hands, stretching in the savage panic of full war.
But the truth is, I'm not chasing.
I don't care enough.
My mind could swallow their death-struggles. I play the long game.
There's my boy, he studies the parchment like he smells the choking warmth of their hearth fires, sees the faces gaunt with lack, hears the terror-screams, feels the snick of the sword cutting up life.
He should know me now.
I do not wish merely to own. I obliterate, then wait for the chance to direct the artist's pen, to sign my name over the wide world.