The Hungry Locust arrives
Wings hum a prophecy in the wind, veiling the sun in a churning tide.
Golden fields turn to hollow husks; whispers of hunger rise and collide.
No mercy in the swarming dark, only silence where life once thrived.
The Plague Rat takes hold
It slinks beneath the gilded gate, a shadow lost in woven lies.
Whispers drip like venom, slowly turning truth into hollow cries.
Hands that build now clutch and cling, protecting all they stole and claimed.
The Hands of Ash spread
Fingers trace the sky in smoldering streaks, turning towers to dust and streets to graves.
Smoke coils in whispers of what once stood, mourning echoes where laughter fades.
Roots unravel, homes unmade; the earth remembers what the flames erase.
Hope is poisoned
A golden thread was pulled thin, and then torn, dipped in doubt, and left to fray.
Hands reach out but find the void; voices wilt in silent decay.
The dream dissolves, the mirror cracks, tomorrow drowns in yesterday.