The black sky casts its shadow of doubt,
its tendrils of ink slithering every which way –
to places unseen, times unknown;
Slowly, she ascends upon a throne of dusk,
wearing a crown of cumulus, an armour of false light.
Magnificently vicious, gloriously cruel,
and kingdoms fall to their knees.
Crimson is her stare, her reign of ichor begins.
She takes no prisoners and shows no mercy,
and yet they pine for her warmth, her fearsome embrace;
And onward she goes, devouring the Sun itself,
a false goddess among the divine, a true demon among men.
Slowly, with every moment, there is a blood moon rising.
My time has come.
Watercolour on paper, 9.5″ x 7″