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They will forget what their fights were about,
will look for the weakest to put on the blame,
until the darkest war will break out.
This island will never be the same.
A child will come from the chosen kind,
made to destroy what doesn’t belong.
It will be blessed with the darkest mind,
trained to raise from the weak to the strong.
Listen to the shadows of the past,
the cries of those they took from me.
Their souls are the ones that will always last,
from now on till eternity.
Nobody can see what is to come.
Only the golden snake might be able to show,
to whom the city does truly belong,
and when the next flower of darkness will grow.
The bond of the seven,
will be the weapon of the dark.
It will protect us from heaven,
protect the ones with the mark.
This land is mine.
They destroyed my pride,
but my darkness is divine,
until the last of them died.
The text on the age-worn, brown parchment was framed by a detailed circular star map that stretched across the writing, covered with fine curved intersecting lines, dots, Roman numerals, tiny Latin words in a beautiful calligraphy, and carefully crafted illustrations of ravens, snakes, moths, and bees. The entire prophecy had been written in the same ink.
I had never believed in the prophecy. But now, as I read it, I felt fear.
If my father never talked about it, even though he kept those very verses in one of his books in the form of the copy that had been left on our doorstep in the 1980s, I should probably ignore this feeling. But I knew he believed in the prophecy. He feared it. Especially the part about the child.
“Who came up with this incomprehensible nonsense?” Miles laughed, propping himself up on the backrest of the couch behind me.
He was so close to me, I could hardly concentrate on the prophecy.
“In the early eighties, someone nailed these pages to the front doors of the most powerful families in town. It was a big deal for a while. The original here was placed in front of Moenia in this very book,” Julie explained.
