The Collapse of the Faded Castle: Vol. 2

A poem by an unknown hand. Between the lines runs a strange and unlucky air.

Beside the purest lake-water in the world

once stood a castle of gold and azure glory.

Gold leaf and gems adorned its outer walls,

dazzling under afternoon sun.

Pretty colored flags flew from the battlements;

magnificent towers rose into the clouds.

Guests from afar, through windows of stained glass,

saw at every turn a wholly different novel scene.

Most striking were the sculptures set everywhere—

though shapes were grotesque and strange, they looked vividly alive.

In the central hall was a stage that shone with golden light;

musicians day and night played and sang for the castle's master.

When the beautiful music rose, golden swarms of bees also circled the stage,

dancing to the harmonious measure as if the world itself tilted toward it.

The castle seemed to hold endless fine food and wine for revelry;

no matter whence they came or of what birth, guests could seek pleasure as they pleased.

Yet none of this could soothe the master's dread within,

nor bring his uneasy soul a moment's peace.

Each midnight, when the great clock on the tower rang low and deep,

he always fell into unstoppable anxiety and unrest;

unspeakable fear and depression enfolded him.

The black-robed wraith would come to claim his debt—

then all before his eyes would turn to powder,

together with the souls of master and every guest,

as offerings to the ancient world in the dark.