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#acrostic Have you danced with the devil in the pale moonlight. Or have you stared in the mirror till you got a fright.
A gathering of six, in an old gothic mansion. A large pentagram adorns the floor. A meeting of minds not restrained by societies sanctions. A ritual is held that's evil to its very core.
Dressed in white with scarlet stains, From all preluding bloodied games, A cup of wine upon my chest, An occult cult, in death I rest.
Drip. Drip. Drip. I watch, mesmerised by the glistening crimson dripping off my fingertips. Drip. Drip. Drip. That's what fourteen years in a grungy orphanage will do to you.
He had mixed his powders and potions, his incense the essence of death. Black was his colour of choice today, his alter before him was set.