Step into the shadowy realm of "Poe's Nightmares," a mesmerizing collection of short stories and poetry penned by the enigmatic Lady Eckland. This anthology is a tribute to the master of the macabre, Edgar Allan Poe, whose spectral whisper resonates...
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In the depths of shadowed halls where silence reigns, Lay a maiden fair, bound in death's cold chains. Her eyes sealed shut, in eternal sleep's embrace, Unknowing of her morbid, ghastly place.
Beneath the flicker of a lone candle's light, Two morticians stood, in the dead of night. Their tools of trade gleamed with a macabre sheen, Preparing for a rite, gruesome and unseen.
But lo! A twist in fate's cruel, twisted game, The maiden's soul stirred, yet her body lay the same. Trapped in a tomb of flesh, silent and paralyzed, Her mind awoke in horror, utterly terrorized.
Around her, shadows danced in a ghastly waltz, As morticians spoke in murmurs, without faults. Their words, like daggers, cut the thick, stale air, Unaware of the living soul in despair.
Her screams lay trapped behind lips of lifeless hue, Eyes wide open within, to the dreadful view. The scalpel's edge approached, cold and precise, A nightmare unfolding, her silent sacrifice.
In this chamber of death, where the lost find repose, Lay a conscious mind amidst final throes. A prisoner within, bound by unseen chains, A soul screaming in silence, wracked with phantom pains.
O, what cruel fate, to be thus interred alive, To witness one's own end, yet unable to strive. The maiden's heart, though stilled, beat in terror's song, In the morgue's macabre ballet, where the dead belong.
As steel met skin in a fate most grotesque, A tear slid down her cheek, in a silent, final bequest. In the morgue's cold embrace, where secrets lie deep, She succumbed once more to an eternal, paralytic sleep.
