The stroll was brisk
Too dark to meander
The mists collect
Seeping between the trees
Flowing across the path
An odd sensation
Stings your soul
Chills your mind
Your pace quickens
The sting burns closer
The moon vanishes
Behind a storm cloud
The mists part
A wind comes
To nip your bones
A circle forms
A symbol, a star
In the pentagram
A hole
You step closer
The wind now whipping
Is directionless and hot
From the circle
A sound, a growl?
You draw nearer yet
From the hole, a stench
You peer inside
What moved?
It is coming closer
Suddenly a form
Floating over the pit
A monolith
The purest, deepest black
Transfixes your gaze
It begins to shift
Spreading on the edges
Condensing at the center
Becoming a foul creature
It doesn't speak
But you understand
Your time is past
Your future, death
It awaits
You advance
The eyes
They draw you
Into the cloak
Into eternity
You've wronged
One too many times
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