The wind whispers discreetly, mindful of those slumbering within,
murmuring a slight sonata, a lilting lullaby, through the cave.
Barely a sound can be heard apart from the faint fluttering
of a set of infant nostrils, yet to pant their first puff of smoke,
yet to savor their fair share of succulent evening air.

A grander being stirs, splendor skipping down its slinky spine
to the opulence shimmering leisurely across the floor.
A curling cloud is exhaled, lovingly, tenderly, towards the crown
of the resting angel, whose scales have not lost their luster
and whose pearly nubs of teeth have yet to be colored carnivorous.

But abruptly, the quiet worthy of a cathedral is broken
by the scrabble of avaricious feet at the threshold.
Gleaming dilated pupils flash open, narrow, pinpointing the intruder,
taking in the preparatory, pompous chain lacing across its chest,
the embossed, snarling shield, the faceless countenance.

The demon crouches, slick fingertips tasting the jeweled carpet,
cupping the gems like water and letting them drip to the ground.
Its voice rings out, snarling, taunting incomprehensibly,
as heedlessly approaching footsteps scatter dazzling diamonds,
and scuff glossy gold under their colossal, careless weight.

Out flashes its blade, slicing a searing smile into the air,
breathily, eagerly, thirstily laughing; it can already smell the blood.
The queen shifts apprehensively in her throne, curled claws
clicking against coins, scales bristling and shifting into position;
does this devil dare infiltrate her castle, terrorize her young prince?

A staring match commences, chatoyant meeting argent,
but it is soon shattered by the sound of naïve waking mewls.
The fiend’s objective shifts, darkened by the might of malice,
gaze trained on the drowsily blinking baby, and it steps forward thrice
until it is halted in his tracks by a torrential tsunami of flames.

Screams filter through the smoke, morphing into barbaric battle cries
as the monstrosity charges, swinging its weapon with sadistic intent.
Sword collides with scales, spines with shield, blows parried
one after another, unfailingly, in a violently graceful duet between
Sparta and Athens, Capulet and Montague, each battling to the death.

Alas! down tumbles the regal queen, metal dashing into her chest,
spilling scarlet paint and transforming emeralds into rubies.
Guffaws peal through the cavern, victorious, maniacal, and shrill,
even more crimson staining the rhythmically descending blade,
until the mother’s cries reach a crescendo, then stop.

More brutes cascade onto the battlefield, steely gloves clapping,
exultant eyes crinkling, desensitized to the macabre remnants.
The nobility is beheaded, as well as her innocent scion, grisly skulls
carted away by blind lemmings; victims of their own belligerence,
they leave behind another bloody ocean in their wake.