Page 45 of Into the Heartless Wood
Some sob.
Some smile.
She flicks her eyes to me.
She takes away my choice.
Her power is greater than mine.
Strong enough to force my mouth open.
To pull the song
unwilling
from my lips.
I sing.
I cannot stop.
The men come and come,
like flies drawn to honey.
But I do not go to her.
I do not help her
as
she
kills
them
all.
Blood drips from her hands.
Red,
like the roses in her hair.
She hisses at me as the bodies fall,
as the wood grows quiet,
as the screaming is cut off.
She stops singing.
She lets me stop, too.
She commands me: “Collect their souls.”
Dew
