Night falls upon the hour,

Painting the manor in blue,

I walk through these hallowed halls,

Headed to my private room.

I ring the bell inside it twice,

Metallic chimes resound,

And swiftly comes my tiny maid,

With her tiny cart, head bowed down.

She says nothing as she lifts the kettle,

Pouring the tea with grace,

And once the leaves begin to settle,

She dips her head and takes her place.

I lift the cup and smell the gentle scent,

Something odd, yet aromatic and pure,

I taste it, and smile, finding myself content,

But bliss fades quickly, its calm unsure.

I shiver with chills, though the hearth remains bright,

My bones ache, fingers numb to the cold,

I try to speak, but my head splits with fright,

I blink as consciousness begins to fold.

I slump, my chair tipping with my weight,

And gravity pulls me to the earth, held tight,

Lungs falter, stutter, struggling to inflate,

A cruel laugh echoes from the endless night.

My eyes are the only part I still control,

For my body is heavy, bound by the unseen,

My tongue lies dead, cold, beyond all soul,

In this silence, I curse what couldn’t be foreseen.

Heartbeats thud, a quiet, dull roar,

My eyes blink slowly, then close once more,

A distant clock strikes the midnight hour,

And I awaken on night’s Plutonian shore.