Introduction: An eldritch poem which weeps a tale of a lost city and her Mephistophelian maiden.


Beneath the blackened, crumbling crown,
Where night bleeds thick and stars drown,
A figure stands wrought of marrow and dust,
woven in whispers, despair, and rust.
The Oracle, her lips a silken dirge,
spills truths that twist like a serpent’s urge.

She foretells a sky that splits and weeps,
where gods lie broken, where darkness creeps;
a flood of shadows to drown the sun,
and ages undone, one by one.
Her breath is a lullaby sung to hollow graves,
a requiem stitched from a million slaves.