Her face is white as that of a corpse,

A mouth sharply outlined in blood.

Her song,

Her sweet, cloying fragrance of decay;

Her beauty draws me in

Stronger than the Siren;s melody,

Greater than the might of the sun’s magnet

One clawed finger curls --

“Come, child,”

She whispers gently in my mind.

I reach out longingly,

Desperately,

For her hand,

Her crimson lips rise in a breathtaking smile…

And my hand meets a wall of glass,

Firm as iron.

“Let me through!” I beg,

Striking the glass with bleeding hands

“Please!” My throat crumbles with the agony

Of my sharp cry.

She simply smiles,

Waves her pointed, blackened nails,

And images follow her hand,

Trailing across the glass.

A white noose, hanging from a bar,

Iron tracks, glinting in the sunlight.

Dark ocean waters, crashing against mortal woodwork,,

A long dagger, crested with rubies of blood.

“Come,” she whispers,

“You have kept me waiting long enough.”

I hesitate;

Her imploring eyes harden,

Widen,

Showing only ebony pupils,

Sweet, beckoning eyes of imploration.

“Come, my rose,” she murmurs..

Her voice, soft as it is,

Holds immutable power.

How dare I disobey her dear command?

Reach through the glass --

My fingers close around the soft cloth of the noose.

Her smile lights;

Her pupils grow,

Widening,

Embracing,

Consuming me in darkness

As I step through the glass

Into the shroud of night;

Into a world unknown.