I noticed with faltering wary eye,
A small mirror at the end of the long hall.
I kept walking toward it,
But it wouldn't stay in one place.
I stopped, and the mirror stopped.
I stared into it with all of my might,
But my eyes kept rolling over. . .
All I could see was a small hand,
Bleeding like the scabs on my fingertips.
I could hear the blood dripping on the floor,
Echoing every so often.
There was something so unsettling,
About the calm serenity of the drip...drop..drip...
I started to run away,
But that wasn't doing any good.
She was dead and it was all my fault.
All my fault. . .
Was this the land they had spoken of?
The very land that the demons cry,
For me to salvage down in those waters?
Was this hell?
I would never know. . .
But then there was a sign.
Three names engraved in stone.
They were all unfamiliar to me. . .