The ninth seal
Because the hour was nine. Or almost.
Paris wept softly blue through cobblestones and gaslight.
A monster came,
not with claws nor teeth,
But with wheels,
A chained demon in place of horses,
and the roar of hatred and madness disguised as an engine.
He saw me.
He chose me.
He had determined that I had to die by his shameful hand
The madman with the skull face,
The carriage forged in a nightmare,
drunk on fury,
under a wicked spell,
his infernal claws trembling not from fear —
But from the thrill of ending me.
And I,
Just a girl in a pale embroidered dress,
Crowned with strands of gold and unarmed,
But not unguarded.
For something stopped him.
Something unseen.
A force older than rot,
stronger than rage,
woven from secret whispers and gold light
spilt from my angelic protector gaze.
The wheels screamed.
The demons reared.
And time stopped to exist
As the carriage froze inches from my heart.
Behind me,
two hags —
with teeth like monuments and gums raw as hunger,
bald as ancient ruins,
laughed as if grace were weakness
and survival, shame.
Their laughter didn’t touch me.
I walked on,
not broken.
Not bowed.
My feet were flame and precious gemstones.
I passed through death
I passed through judgment
as one who had died before —
and been reborn
With mirrors behind her eyes
and dustless bones.
No prayer was spoken.
No sword was drawn.
But a pact was sealed in starlight and crystal blaze.
And so I say:
Nine are the circles, nine the keys.
I cloak myself in stone and destiny.
He who looks sees nothing, he who listens hears no sound,
But I stand guarded, armed with beauty,
And no evil enters where nine times I have said yes.
Elisabetta
