Alpha Ezra’s Little Witch
Let fever scorch their brittle veins,
Let madness dance within their brains.
No rain shall fall upon their land,
No mercy in the sky’s dry hand.
Their wells run dry, their throats will crack,
No drop of life to bring them back.
Let hunger hollow every cheek,
And strength to flee grow frail and weak.
Fire rise, and earth consume,
Turn their lands into a tomb.
By shadow’s will, by night’s decree,
So burned, so cursed, so mote it be.
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