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For everyone who knows that Halloween is a state of mind not a time of year.
And all the songs sang A tale so dark and true That once day our lady of spring would return To save hell from you
Berries of black stained her lips Cursed by the devil’s wicked fingertips Our lady of death would seek and find To break the curse for souls to bind
Death’s four horsemen rage and fight Against the long October night Oh, come Halloween! In Hell, above so below Trick her treat Time to learn Time to eat.
My Mortala. My bride. My deathly dark reaper queen. On her way home to me. Her last love. Did they think I’d play fair? I am the devil, after all.
Most people will tell you growing up means you stop believing in Halloween things — I’m telling you the reverse. You start to grow up when you understand that the stuff that scares you is part of the air you breathe. Peter Straub, “Magic Terror: 7 Tales”
“Dreadful and beautiful, much like you, sweet death, my little terror of decay.”
He stood between my knees, shirtless and broad, before dropping to his knees slowly. “You are the only one I have ever or will ever kneel before.”
“When I’m on my knees for you, my sweet death, I will do anything for you.”
“You are my burning willow. You are my hell; my place of eternal torment and sorrow. I am your devil, your guardian. I should love nothing, but I love only you,”
