The Ritual

The flaming flicks and 'gainst the dark, the fast
sprung shadows prance. The brazier's embers burn
dim bright 'cross tomes and notes in tatters cast.
The slender lights a smoking dance, they  turn
Her eye in flashing fear. She laughing makes
a cursing scoff "they do not draw so near".
Then daring still she turns the page, awakes
now blackened lore. And headless of the weird
display she spoke and was no more.  

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