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Melagrit

The dark depth of the hunter’s pupil,
Entrances the crystalline prey,
To abandon clarity,
And venture into the billowy mass of murk.

The slick cloak so searing,
Not even stars could break its embrace,
It snarls at the light,
The wail driving off innocence,

But contrasts the grotesque dark with a menacing beauty,
Its icy angles melting into a hypnotic melody,
That inundates your ears,
Pulling you into its stale elegance





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