As the moon rose like a diamond jewel above the pine mountains cold

By a fire in the deep pine wood, sat a few men and a woman holding a book of old

As the fire cracked and the embers burned, all seemed to lose track of time

The woman, strained ever more at her feet and wrists that were tied

At once, as if by voiceless command, all the gentlemen stood

The moon fully shown, and her white virgin gown, they carried her into the woods

With night moving on, preparation just begun, she prayed for mercy or death

They took her in deep, in the frosty mountain air, death seemed to be drawn with every breath

Onto the stone so bone shattering cold her weak body was laid

Her wrists and arms shackled to the altar, where many have been slain.

She wished death would hurry, wishing her pleas would be heard by any

All those around her, wore fine dressed cloths, of these men she knew many.

They are the lords of the land, yet times seemed to touch them not

For all men there, were quiet wonderfully fair, that she didn’t fear the unholy lot.

From under the robe of a hooded dark man, the old Testament was brought

And upon the pages, yellowed by ages, lay a language long dead but sought

With slow certainty, his voice twisted by cruelty, he slowly spoke the lines

The cold seemed colder, as the purpose of the words seemed to slow down time

The darkness seemed to deepen; the moon seemed unnaturally bright, as she fought against the chains

Her body seemed light, as if she could fly, but even still she fought her iron strains.

She watches the deep dark once lit by moon, as glaring dark red eyes watched

Begging for dawn, waiting for the rising sun, her screams seemed to echo, against the chains she launched

The horrors that stood behind the men, her last humanity tried to warn them

As the moon shown like a pillar of brilliant light, onto the men as whom watched as he hurled at them

She witnessed horrors only described in tales, dragon bodied with heads and snakes for tails

Monstrous demons, built by the corpses of rotting men a women, demons that exist only in fables

Upon the stone, she begged for death, as the gentlemen remained obscure to the dark parade

The demons laughed as growled as the approached ever closer from the depths of the deep shade

In the darkness, where stood the heartless, the laughter of imps and unholy stayed

For into the moon light, walked one demon war worn and anciently aged

Once fair, she could tell, from the dirty white wings from hell, Lucifer came to her call

Unseen by the men, still praying and reading from the ancient script, soon to be her fall

He bent his head so it lay next to hers, a dark dry voice crippled by age

Though he spoke to her softly, to her it seemed he was hiding his rage

He told her, her innocence will not condemn, but her soul shall be free to heaven

To be free of this land, twisted by human and demon hand, by which she fell victim

And slowly he walked backwards, and the darkness faded, and the moon dimmed to a low glare

She heard again the men chant and pray, and discovered she again felt very cold.

Voices in unison, the prayer had ended in two clear excited words, “To Hell!”

The book closed, with a deep thud, just as their declare into the woods it echoed

The book was hid from view, this part they all well knew, her body lay weak

The approached the fair maiden, so innocently virgin, in the darkness cold and weak

As the moon shown so clearly above in the sky shot a single shooting star

Slowly the approached, the book keeper brought forth a long bloodied dagger

He held it a breast, against his robbed chest, the final prayer being just a mutter

In the ancient language long dead it seemed it were to pray for her disaster

Her eyes locked on the moon, whom still dimly shown in the cold frost of the night

The pine trees in the breeze, seemed to reach out toward the moon light

The men stood around the stone she was chained to, all eyes upon her limp body

One last “To Hell!” and her eyes widened as her blood made that blade even more bloody.