Wary I’d grown, so I needed the Well. She asked for a chamber—a place she might dwell. To reclaim my good self, I forged the Iron Gate. The cost was my armor, my golden breastplate. For the Scythe I wanted power, and her price was quite steep. I gave her my rest—she claimed all my sleep. The Mirror was next, to be invisible—unseen. She wanted old bones, so I gave her my Queen’s. But it felt incomplete, my collection yet whole. And so, for the Nightmare... I bartered my soul.
