Lambs of the Vermillion Queen

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Like lambs to the slaughter the maidens gather,

stricken by nobles withered and tattered.

Peacekeepers of Hell storm the sleet-stained town,

where unholy pleasures bloom abound.


Stolen by night without a sound,

what would come next was bound to astound.

They stormed through the forest in a carriage of black,

toned by the despair of fragile lilac.


Led by the allure of a witchcraft promise,

the incense of purity wickedly demolished.

A house of horrors where wombs were torn from strife,

bleeding dry the fruitless elixir of eternal life.


Splayed virgins forced into submission,

painting the castle a ruby emission.


What awaited them was the purest form of tragedy,

confined to a prison of sadistic agony.

Coming undone by a devil's creed,

forced into worship of the vermillion queen.

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