Fated

At the end of the line, we gather.
When their shadows fade and slip away, we know.
That blood-blackened hour of neither night nor day, we claim.

Tell us lies, sister.

The void draws nearer, swirling, fingering our essence, but in vain; it cannot take us. And then they come.

Pouring in, droves of them, some fighting, some not. They know our power.

Not yet, my sisters, oh no, not yet...

They swarm like hungry mosquitoes, hungry for blood, hungry for life. Just one taste, please...no. We are all, and we are final.

But which ones? Which pretty ones to keep, and which to throw away?

That one is too sticky; and that one, too calloused. That one hurts our eyes, the devil take him...oh, we do amuse ourselves, don't we sisters?

Yes, yes, that one, that one!

It is done, and the masses collapse into the absence. And now we must play.

Ooh, touchy little thing, isn't it, sisters?
Watch it squirm...what is this one's tragedy, I wonder? Shall we dare, oh yes...too empty to refuse. Now.

Dance, pretty one, dance your tale for us. Writhe in your phantom agony, and please us.

It jerks unpleasantly, wonderfully, horribly. But the order has been given, it's choice made for it. Let it run...now, now.

So it begins, a blood-filled deluge, rising, twisting, destroying; all those, and here, and here, and here. Again.

Oh, we chose well, my dears...

Show us more, pretty one. Give in to us, and you shall see your release. This we promise. This we know. We want your secrets; give them to us!

At last, it is time. The silence breaks its vigil, and we give ourselves up to the flooding torrent; and we are sated.