a digital well being
lurker of depths
terrors the village
the swashbuckler is sent
to ban(ish) but
as st martin once cut cloth
instead curtains are parted
and sunlight floods
the blueshot eyes
a pea-sized prefrontal cortex
screams "LEGION",
but is quickly silenced
by the untexturable smile
of him who its greasy lips
once gloated NPC
...and finally, after wandering an aberration for years,
the lost son was welcomed back into the village,
where he lived happily ever after.
The End.