The lurkers of the deep.
She’s going to kill us, you know.
Lying still and waiting for the blade.
The door at the end of the longest hall.
Burn off your oldest skins.
The inner forge glows.
This hug is a bit too tight.
Whipstitched and fragile.
Remember what you have.
His aim is precise and his arrows poison.
We all need a warm touch.
The cycle of life, hidden by twilight.