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