Ninth

duskfall creature, tipsy on the blood of the covenant, tell me, when did you pull the ninth card? when your fangs grew in and your eyes grew tired, what made you build the castle walls? the sunlight burns, you protest, every silver-backed mirror a reminder to forget. close the books, put down your stakes, because the real world doesn’t work like that, creature of the night. shame hasn’t cured the illness. you paint a picture of their stares in the back of your eyelids etch their whispers into the corners of your mind, bear the weight of their crosses. duskfall creature, drunkenly playing the hermit, why do you push the wooden stake against your own chest?