Dreaming Above The Sepulcher

Nightbringer

All hymns are hollow, unheard outside the gate of in-
between and unbeknown fall like wounded birds from the 
heavens back unto the supplicant. Thus I slumber upon the 
threshold of death and dream the dreams of gods. It is 
here that I have sung my hymns into the mouths of the 
dead, that they may not rise but fall down and down 
through the chambers of slumber and unto the darkness of 
deaths ingress. Lamentation and evocations in the same 
cadence, resounding like the songs of Thessalian witches. 
And with bones snatched from the maws of ravening dogs I 
have mocked the cathedrals mason, constructing an ill 
house of darkness mirrored within the birdless lake, a 
black mansion of dreaming Night. Within these dolente 
lands where the Incubi abound, I have chased the children 
of the psalm-singers from cyprus to tomb and jugulated 
them one by one. In my visions I have spilled the 
haimakuria within graven trenches dug by my nails from 
cemetery marle. I would dare to do more. I would will to 
go further. I would sit opposite the Lord of Slumber, 
face down turned to gaze upon the cascading abyss. I 
would hear truths unspoken and un-scribed within silence. 
I would place deaths crown upon my head and intone my 
will in a tongue of stygian threnodies, with cacophonous 
and mournful wails upon nightmare choruses of dying 
lepers falling before their graves. I would draw the gaze 
of my daemon self upon myself that I may murder myself 
and become my daemon, and move ever closer towards the 
incalculable totality of the Great Darkness that is the 
Supreme.