Whispers and shadows.
He slithers his way
Into her bed,
And fills her blue veins
With a sedative
That quiets her howling.
Bristles wrap around her wrists
And cold metal
Caresses her uncloaked skin.
There are roguish men
Walking in and out,
Inflicting pain on her
Already deflowered body.
Bêtes noires
Are
Frightened of the moon,
And they run far,
And Aria is at peace
For a heartbeat.
Miss Lune hides behind
a curtain of red flames
And jealousy-green eyes.
The puppeteer adjusts her strings
On the little little Mary.
“Sweet dreams.”
