| Book Information | |||
|---|---|---|---|
| Writer | Tori Schafer | ||
| Seen In: | |||
Creeping, crawling, creeping, crawling.
They whisper, whisper, whisper to me. Do you hear it? It's low and steady. Crawls into your ears, rattles through your head. Shadows growing darker. The darkness is right under your eyelids. Black, eternal, inescapable. Creeping, crawling.
I am Her servant, loyal. I must be loyal. The shadows will catch me. I once thought myself quick, clever, able to pick any lock, there and back without a trace. I was ready, willing to give all to Her. I could not do otherwise, I knew. I felt. The darkness had seeped into my skin. I could taste it on my tongue, like the oil that coats this city.
Her shrikes sang to me, a haunting tune. I can't describe it. I don't want to, I can't, I won't. Always singing. The rhythm beat itself into my blood, my heart pumping in time. Slow, steady, slow, steady. Always singing, dreams coated in black. I'm drowning, I can't breathe, but Her song fills me still.
I'm creeping, crawling, a roach of Clockwork. Her insect, set to Her bidding. Shadows, I've become a shadow. I'm darkness, a stain upon the wall. My blade is coated in blood, red against the black. Warm, so warm, but my fingers feel like ice.
I'm trapped in brass, in cogs and wheels. The singing remains, but the song is gone. No tune, no music, but whispers set to rhythm. Serve Her, be shadow, be whispers. Creeping, crawling, but I can't escape. I'm caught in the darkness, tar which clings to my clothes. I speak but am silent. I see but am blind. Blind, so blind, to nothing but Her will.
The crows are laughing, but I cannot. The shrikes are singing, but I cannot. The world is bright, but I am darkness. I am whispers. You will not hear me before I strike.