My crown a bruised bronze and splattered with blood, my armies move at night like a giant snake, village to village, town to town, all torched except the housecats in the barn. A presh countryside with a lantern, the shadows dancing, the pale faces in the dark and how they have no idea what's at the gates, in the trees, hissing and circling like well-trained troops ready for battle, crawling on the belly, in the muck and dirt, the slender pines creak and moan, the wind whistles, when the last light goes out, red eyes ablaze, the screaming lunacy of horror begins.