"Down the stairs, she waits. Hiding where eyes cannot see her. Holding the candle tightly in her hand. She watches you come down the stairs, she watches you go up. And when the moment's perfect, she will fix you up. She bleeds you out with surgeons hand, pours it into jars. She fills the wounds with candle wax, and you will die in hours. She leaves without a sounding step, up the stairs she goes. While your lying there dying, and nobody knows."
Copywrite 2009 A.E.Crawford "Tir"
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