The air was sharp this night, unusually dark in midnights gilded embrace.

From up above, the moon no longer looking hid itself out of sight.

Something was there, a whisper, a touch, one could not see or taste.

With the sunset, reclusive had become the comfort of the light.

An ominous feeling, a sudden breeze so cold it left a chill across the skin.

There was the sound of breath nearby, a raspy, labourous sort of breath.

Stirring every sense, idea, and all negative thought consealed within.

The dark was calling out as if it were alive, was this the voice of Death?

Even though the eyes refused to believe what stood in the distance just ahead.

Heart thumping loudly like a bell in a storm, waiting with myriad anticipation.

A caress from Fear appeared when from that lusty voice thy name was said.

As if it were the sweetest thing, formidable the resistance of the temptation.

Sharp claws, as long as knives, adorned the fingers on a visage so tenebrous.

Bright and ominous the eyes staring back, the crimson depths an eternal maze.

Such a formidable sight, to be consumed by dread thy needn't be too credulous.

What was once empty space regarded thee, hovering nearby in a form like haze.

The darkness, it turned, it toiled, until stepped forth a form only remotely human.

Horns that would adorn a ram, black as ebony, coiled outward from upon his head.

Baffled by which came closer, and then even closer yet, such things so far unproven.

Cascading down his shoulders like waves of silk, his hair smooth and blood red.

Gazing out from eyes so lustrous, he took hand to chin in graceful thought.

An unnerving grin curled his lips, the fire in his regard growing more alight.

Thumbing a finger against his chin, letting thee die or go free, he thought not.

Stepping forward, inch by inch, freedom was impossible, so no need to fight.

That boney hand against thy chest, those claws a sharp and burning pain.

Suddenly there was warmth, yet also the feeling of fluid dripping down skin.

Eyes wide and fearful, the thought of death overtook thee all over again.

Despite that, he bowed his elegant head, and stepped back with a wry grin.

Eyes now finally catching sight of blood, now caught gazing back toward him.

A coldness swept forward at that, hitting with a force that really gave a fright.

Licking his lips in satisfaction, he spoke hoarsely, "mortal, you be now my kin."

The last thing thy could see, a red eyed crow flew and vanished into the night.