A Macabre Dance

Unknown to him, I watched from the shadows of rocks far below, he, dancing like a scarecrow atop the cliff edge, limbs at unnatural angles, broad grin of chiseled teeth gleaming in the wan light of the moon, looking up to spit blood at its face, making sadistic biting gestures, almost as if he could taste the pale blue beams ... or nip them off, thus. Maybe he could, this Demon of Lies, for darkest magic was his faith and forte, most any miracle, his, tho' cursed as payment to never take his own form, wearing, instead, the sinews of those who sold their souls for desire, deceit … yes, I watched intently as he spun his grotesque jig, cackling with impiety, for a NEW flesh hung loose upon his skeleton, and its face ... was my own.