Fantasy

Who knows what evil lurks in shady cloisters Hiding in the stones Who knows what evil was contained In the priest’s old bones Who knows what steps were done in haste Fleeing from the fear

The aimless meanderings of a wandering man Who woke to the sun and the desert With robes dragging behind, never taking a misstep The light and the sweat on his brow will never blind him

Her childhood had been a less than stable experience, with deceit and manipulation being of hereditary disposition, she was in a way a self-fulfilling prophecy, of all that she had once hated.

3am and DeeDee is in the mood for revenge