As I peered into his devilish eyes, a sense of dread washed over me. He towered over his minions, determined to devour them. The oak trees behind him surrounded us in such an eerie way, you could swear we starred in a horror film. The cold, dreary night left a sky of navy blue above us. His long, stick- like claws sent an unpleasent feeling jotting up my back. I was quite sure that by the end of the night, the tiny slaves would be no more. Written across their faces was a look of pure hatred, yet when I looked closer, I could see distrust.
The Art of Power
April 18, 2009