You Will
Maisie Evason-Genn
Tomorrow night, when the moon is at its fullest and the wind howls, you are going to wake. Fear will try to choke you and force you out of your blacked room, pulling you as if you were a tiger on a leash.
Or at least you will think it’s your room.
Your feet will drag you downstairs like a spell washed over your body. Or at least you won’t know it’s a spell. Cold will try to freeze you, fear will try to trick you, but your feet will march on.
Or at least you will think you will march on.
Still in your night cap, the courtyard will appear, shadows will dance the sacred ritual, but you will be rooted to the ground as if chains wrapped around your fluffy purple slippers keeping you at bay.
Or at least you won’t think you can move.
You will line up. You will recite. You will summon. You will resurrect. You will do it.
And after your purpose has been fulfilled, you will be sacrificed to the beast. You will try to run.
Or at least you think you will.