Hero Lost

I looked about me. How to describe the great parlor of the House? Swim down the deep, black well of your imagination, and still you would not conjure the sights I now saw. The lush black curtains were warm-breath linen, fluttering from the breezes cast by long dead despairs. The cloths draped over tables shaped as forgotten sins were spider-silk, begging to be stroked. If you were foolish enough to do so, the cloths would be fed.

“You are so brave,” sighed the voice of spider-webs.

I shrugged. “What is brave? You need me. I come.”