The stars grew dark, the air too thick,
the sky a bloody red,
and now remark, those lights' hummed lick,
were the shrieks of the dead…
O Sanguine vault! Pockmarked with black
depths of rising discord!
Jove's sudden bolt, this vision, then back—
my hand's upon the sword.
Dare I draw this blade from out this grave,
risk my soul, this chance, my lover save?
Tale Told 