Dust motes dance in the attic's gloom On shelves of oak, in this rented tomb Grandmother's secrets, bound in skin and bone A legacy of whispers, for me alone. My fingers trace the sigils, worn and deep While ancient promises stir from their sleep. "That key was buried with your father's shame... Use it, and you will wear the very same." The black cat watches from the highest ledge Her emerald eyes, a knowledge on the edge. She hisses low, a spectral, warning sound As shadow-shapes begin to coil around. But I am deaf to omens she imparts The thrill of power clotting in my heart. "That knowledge hungers. It does not teach, it consumes. Put the key back, boy, before the sleeping thing presumes." A presence stirs, behind the written veil. A patient hunter in a paper jail. I feel its thirst, a cold and hollow ache... And every word I speak is one more chain I break. The shadows start to gather, and they answer to its will... It's not my voice that's calling now... but something using it to get its fill. The air is thick with the scent of rust and unborn rot. It pulls itself from the pages, a blasphemy of form and thought. A leech upon the light, a shrieking, silent storm, To tear and pull and swallow 'til the world is standing still. The cat lets out a strangled, soundless cry, Her reason stripped, too terrified to fly. "Fool! Little fool! What have you done? You didn't summon it... you simply let it run! The cage was always open, you just had to leave it be! Now the beast is in the hallway... and it's staring right at me!" Oh, ink-born shade, from slumber deep, Unweave yourself from restless sleep. I called you forth with borrowed, bloody rite To serve my will, to harness endless night. But the chain of command is a fragile thread And the summoner's soul is the wine you'll be fed. The book fell with a dead and meaty thud. A smile, a wound where no blood would. A blur of motion, a stolen grace, A final plea on a small, still face. The warning died, a light grown pale, The start of his triumphant trial. Your Grandmother's protections? Brittle, ancient lies. The cat's last hiss still hangs there, frozen in her eyes. I am the Vengeance festering in your family tree, The patient, starving cancer you were kind enough to free. This world will learn the meaning of the silence I shall bring... Little heir... your offering is complete. Now... I am .....King.
