Battering

I did not rely on anyone.

I cared for few, aside those tied to me by blood and even then it was an impossible feat attempted over decades.

I kept friend briefly- never wholeheartedly because they were slippery, like soap on oiled flesh. Impossible to keep, and impossible to trust. Even with Dawn.

I was content detesting the idea of trusting my heart to anyone, drawn to the sugary liquor pressing to my lips instead.

I have kept it safe for years, after all, and batted away so many easily. Some clung to the impossibility of reaching me but were quick to release their grip upon iron spikes protruding from my flesh where heat should breed.

I never understood why they had ben battered into place, but perhaps my body knew

the plebeian masses would try to tarnish such a polish I had blessed it with.

But tonight I stand on a lever, with a bat blood-dipped and loosely held over my shoulder.

I stare in shock, that someone would manage to climb the wall. Barbs do not seem to wound you, where so many have become grotesquely disfigured in their advances.

You smile brightly- warm and cutting in this frigid world. You seem not to feel the creeping of disparity in my stead and I fear you never will.

I fear it, because everyone is afraid or I am at the very least able to sense it thumping beneath the surface of their smarmy grin: flicker, waver. How am I not to fear the inevitable?

You do not though. You waved at my turrets, and skipped toward the fences. My guards- myself shaded in varying years- watched you go in disbelief, guns loose in their shaking grip. You made my warriors flicker, fearing.

No one makes me shake. No one makes my castle tremble- yet there you stand, bright eyed and wind-battered with the hope of Gods in your eyes.

You will be the death of me, I am sure, as I clutch at the layers covering my chest. I feel a dark gaze penetrate its forces; feel your thousand yard stare that beckons for my trust and at the same time the plug to my life preserver is pulled.

I fell foolishly to my knees to the witch with a decadent grin, and can only pray to the dark deities that might still hear my forlorn prayers you do not deceive me.