The Duchess is back from her travels, her blue tongue long and sharp, she dances and drinks all night, her eyes never close, she's wild and playful with maidens, the widow sits at her own table.
The pitiful, chained-minions lower their heads and serve her with grace, she claws one and roars like a lioness, black-blood spews, and things are quiet, a feint hiss and whispers, and the music begins again, laughter and worried glances from the imp innkeeper, the toast of infernal glasses, her crown is golden and scorched with strange jewels from the land of mist, the night lingers, and a tortured soul howls in agony in the background, the demons laugh and the music goes on and on, it's like this night after night, the tapestry aflame and the cloaked figures alive and breathing.