the
hidden chamber far beneath his footfalls
stacked
with its caskets of glittering gold junk,
echoed
the emptiness his wife couldn't stifle
as
she rifled through her trifle-filled trunk.
while
the spirited mirror warily watched
she
unpacked a rack of beakers and vials.
from
the slivered rifts that scarred his scuffed surface
he'd
clearly suffered for obstructing her wiles.
perusing
the pages of a musty tome
by
the light of the grisly gleam in her eye,
she
cackled when she came to the recipes
for
savory dishes that make people die.
then
she whisked out her wand and rolled up her sleeves
thrusting
a cauldron over sputtering flames,
to
concoct a brew that would likely outdo
Disney's
foul litany of dastardly dames.
the
shade of something disconcertingly shaped
sifted
strange silhouettes that splayed on the wall.
insufferable
shrieks bewailing existence
spurted
with the blood seeping in from the hall.
a
rash of river rats rummaged and snickered
surging
in a slithering, roughhousing crowd.
a
spate of squat spiders spun while suspended
concealing
the ceiling with a sound-proof shroud.
in
a raspy and reedy, paper-thin voice
wheezing
and riddled with inscrutable ticks,
the
book disclosed the fiendish directions
for
fixing up fruit in a perfidious mix.
"three
festering fingers of a feckless wretch
freshly
dissevered or affixed to the stump.
two
lingering lesions from scorpion stings
scraped
from fading victims, congealed in a clump.
a
rasher of ribs, unsparingly sauced
ripped
from a rigid reverend, rabid with wroth.
the
pinioned wings pilfered off spring's first robin,
a
dislocated limb from a three-toed sloth.
the
last gasp of air sucked from a drowning mouth,
a
patch of stretched out neck, tautly wreathed in rope.
seven
slight hands sliced for swiping moldy bread,
a
knot of slit veins forever drained of hope."
rattled,
rocked, and utterly revolted
the
queasy mirror glazed a ghastly shade of green.
he
knew the queen's propensity for evil
but
her taste in books was patently obscene.
as
the horde of relics piled up around her
he
cast about for plausible futures,
projecting
a means for thwarting her schemes
while
skirting reprisals resulting in sutures.
the
tome droned on with its uncanny patter
as
the shape shifting shade slid under the door.
"a
vestige of depleted uranium,
ten
tainted toadstools sporting spores by the score.
a
pinch of cyanide pigmented with lead,
a
shred of panicked dread, screaming in the night.
a
trickle of drool that pooled from a fool,
a
smidgen of perdition and a spit of spite.
a
trace of arsenic, tastelessly laced with lye,
six
drops of venom from a viper's bite.
a
whiff of suspicion whipped into a froth,
two
spoons of envy mixed with finely diced
slight.
a
lolloping dollop of mercury
tossed
in nightshade salad, rolling round in the gorse."
the
mirror sighed softly and muttered to himself
"talk
about beating to death a dead horse!"
then
just as the book was about to impart
the
ingredient most lethally binding,
a
sudden whistling draft wafted passed the harpy
undermining
her magical minding.
the
perspectives in the chamber grew deeper
and
the distance from the ceiling seemed to swell.
the
resulting perceptions wrought vertigo,
rendering
the queen unsteady and unwell.
as
they settled into altered dimensions
the
pages flipped past in an unforeseen rush.
then
the arcane tome closed itself with a thud
and
the mirror shimmered a violet blush.
"you
needn't be so snappy!" quoth Her Highness,
flaring
to regain her bearings and bile.
though
scarcely affecting a shaky stance,
she
managed a manner unspeakably vile.
the
ruse the mirror mused had left her confused,
and
the truth, forsooth, transcendentally veiled.
the
book's grim ramblings were abruptly abridged,
and
its recipe corrupted and curtailed.
the
queen left further hexing till the morrow,
fearing
the frailty her spells might imbue.
the
frazzled mirror eyed the frothing cauldron,
darkly reflecting a phosphorescent hue.*** ** *** ** *** ** *** ** *** **
- Evan Hawthorn, the 24th of May, 2016
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