The tapestry of night woven by many At once was carelessly filled with near twenty Goddesses and warlocks, divinity galore They spiraled and spun magazines of folklore It started as one, a star that spoke red But soon, as a cancer, the scarlet was spread Layering beauty a mossy black mold The crystals of shadow now offered no gold One after one, the magnificent struck down Perfection beleaguered an irate ghost town The sky full of stars now dead and cold A place once so magical now hurt to behold