Our thoughts have become like leviathans to us...
Listen and hear our tale,
of this flip-side Christmas...
that we have lived many a year,
these words sink down through earth and bone...
lighting the dreams of innocents and criminal alike,
and again and again we fall...
we fall.
We are the in-between angels of the coldest places,
of the season...
we are in the briefest of smiles,
a mug of soup handed to a wandering soul...
the impression of music that teases your ears,
from just around the corner...
enticing,
and leading you on...
and as the secret keepers of old,
in coercion of the Sinister Meeting Room...
we send to you a letter,
you should find its' Material Form...
at half past the third hour of the morning,
in a teapot or a casserole dish...
depending on the weather about your home.
In essence this letter is an invite...
to step away from the sanity,
of our unending reality...
a small break in time,
to celebrate the most gothic of Christmas gatherings.
'For those who are born of the cold and the grime...
for those who call the streets their home,
for the faded hearts...
the ones who have forgotten,
the ones who no one dare invite to their parties...
and the one who don't believe anymore.
We care not for your faith...
nor for how evil and dark you are inside,
whether you have celebrated this season alone before...
or never seen fit to leave,
we bring to you...
a celebration for you.
Come one come all...
our poisons are divine,
we know you will find a certain cavalier...
in our merry Hell-bell of this festive twilight,
of delights.
You shall be called forth two nights hence...
until then,
keep what hearts you possess close...
and set guards by the doors at night,
listen always to the clock...
for it will chime,
our call...
your cry.'
...Miss CLScarlett xx...
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