CROWNED BY BLOOD
A song, A real song, being sung by real lips, breathed by real lungs, shaped by a real throat somewhere in the world beyond these cursed peaks.
My lullaby.
It was the same melody I had etched into stone with bloodied fingers during those first terrible nights after my transformation, when madness pressed against the inside of my skull like a living thing trying to claw its way out.
The same lullaby I had sung when Seraphina trembled in her cradle during those early months when colic kept her crying through the dark hours. The same gentle tune I had hummed when Alexander refused to sleep, his infant mind already too active, too curious about the world beyond his nursery walls. The same song